


The Fifth Mission: The One Where They're Pirates

by angel_deux



Series: Won't You Let Us Wander [10]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Minor Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus, Secret Relationship, alternate title: the one where they finally bone, the continued misadventures of Rogue One, the one where jyn and cassian try to figure out how to be in a relationship, while not telling anyone about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-30 21:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10172222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_deux/pseuds/angel_deux
Summary: With the help of a contact of Jyn's, Rogue One starts their new life away from the Rebellion. Jyn and Cassian, having finally admitted how they feel about each other, navigate the beginnings of their relationship.





	1. I Just Want Them to Shut Up

**Author's Note:**

> Mission 5! One day, I'll finish this series. I promise.

What’s going on between Jyn and Cassian doesn’t _have_ to be a secret. It isn’t even necessarily _meant_ to be a secret. They don’t conspire together that first night in Cassian’s cabin, wrapped up in each other’s arms. They don’t consciously decide that the others can find out on their own. They don’t make impassioned speeches to one another about how it’s _their_ business, not anyone else’s. And yet somehow they find themselves at this strange impasse with the rest of the crew starting the morning after leaving Kazadu. The defensiveness feels foreign, feels somewhat surprising to both of them. And yet it’s agreed upon without even speaking about it.

“You look well-rested,” Chirrut says to Jyn when he emerges from his cabin to find her eating breakfast in the main hold with Bodhi (Baze still sprawled out in bed, loud snores carrying across the ship until Chirrut closes the door behind him). “You didn’t sleep on the couch, did you?”

“Bunked with Cassian,” Jyn answers, defiant. Bodhi hands her a cup of caf, which she takes a sip of, ignoring how hot it is so she can maintain this falsely casual air of someone who has nothing interesting to say. Bodhi looks between the two of them like he’s trying to decide who to place a bet on.

“ _Really_ ,” Chirrut says, leaning back into his seat, smiling, as if he didn’t already know that (Jyn has no way of knowing _how_ , but she’s long learned that Chirrut knows far more than anyone has a right to). “That is certainly an interesting solution to your space problem.”

Even knowing that Chirrut means no harm, that the smugness that is certain to follow is likely well-meaning and mostly genuine relief, Jyn feels a spike of defensiveness at his tone. It’s not her fault, after all, that it’s taken this long to get here.

Well, it’s not _entirely_ her fault.

She shrugs, churlishly says, “I was hardly going to move all that garbage out of my room myself, and everyone was too tired to be of any help. You and Baze fell asleep the moment we got back here, and K is convinced that being a pirate means he doesn’t have to listen to _anybody_.”

“Of course,” Chirrut says. He manages to make sipping caf seem like a victory. “I’ll help you move it out this morning. You’ll be back to sleeping in your own bed in no time at all.”

“Thank you,” Jyn replies, and her voice is steady in response to his unspoken challenge, and her chin is jutted out although he cannot see it.

* * *

Cassian is bending over a crate of supplies, his datapad balanced on the rim, and he’s checking off equipment they have enough of, circling the things they’ll need to stock up on. Baze is supposed to be on the other side of the cargo bay, doing the same thing. But Cassian first notices a dearth of noise from over in Baze’s direction.

And then Baze clears his throat, closer than he should be.

Cassian has had years of experience with reading a room. With understanding people and being able to interpret what their intentions are. But this is _Baze_ , a man who either stands in intimidating silence or announces himself with a hearty laugh or a bellowing roar and leaves no room for uncertainty. He is not a man who clears his throat for attention.

The lack of overt introduction is worrying, and so Cassian tenses up, looks over his shoulder, tries to read the warrior’s stance and expression and everything about him.

Mostly, Baze looks uncomfortable.

Gone is that ease after the haze of battle with which Baze had challenged him, teased him, even, about Jyn. Gone is the odd affability and fatherly concern. Now it’s just…discomfort.

“I noticed that Jyn’s room is still full of equipment,” he says. It sounds scripted. Cassian can imagine Chirrut whispering the words to him, making Baze repeat them back, the larger man probably increasingly annoyed by Chirrut’s insistence on doing this (because _of course_ Chirrut is the one who did this).

“Yes,” Cassian answers. “I tried to get K to move it. He’s rebelling.”

“Yes. I heard Bodhi yelling at him in the cockpit earlier.” Silence, and the two men stare at each other for so long that Cassian is about to turn back to his work and pretend that Baze hadn’t said anything, but then the guardian continues with, “will we be moving everything back here, then? Or…keeping it where it is?”

Cassian can’t know it, of course, because he hasn’t spoken to Jyn since they left the safety of his cabin earlier, but they both experience the same territorial defensiveness: Jyn when Chirrut challenges her with his pointedly sipped beverage, Cassian when Baze asks this question with such careful delicacy.

It’s as if Baze is asking his intentions, or his plans, or his hopes. He’s asking for some sort of future tense, and Cassian doesn’t know the answers to those unasked questions for _himself_. He hardly wants to share them with the entire crew.

“Obviously, Jyn will need her room back,” he says. He keeps his tone blank, warning-free, although the word _obviously_ serves as warning enough, he thinks. He doesn’t look away from Baze, and he feels as if they’re facing each other down across a battlefield.

Baze just nods, his gaze narrowing into a thoughtful expression.

“Obviously,” he repeats.

* * *

K-2SO’s approach is more overt: _you seem well rested, Cassian. Someone bandaged you very adequately, Cassian. You seem much happier than you have for a month, Cassian._ Of course, K-2SO is oblivious, but the rest of the crew isn’t. Bodhi’s eyes get a little big on some of the statistics, and Baze laughs particularly hard when he overhears a rattled-off and unasked-for update about Cassian’s hormone balance.

Before long, Cassian sends K-2SO to help Bodhi in the mechanical hatch, because his jaw is starting to hurt from gritting his teeth.

On his way to close the door to the cockpit (K-2SO having apparently decided that _rebelling_ includes leaving doors open when he leaves the room), he hears Chirrut’s voice coming from the crew quarters, saying, “shame about this. It really _was_ convenient to have this as a storage room.”

A smile comes unbidden to Cassian’s lips when he hears Jyn stubbornly reply, “I could always leave again, if that’s more convenient for you.”

* * *

Later, when they’re alone in the cockpit, sitting side by side in the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats, Cassian distractedly mentions, “Baze said some very pointed things to me while we were doing inventory.” He looks up from his calculations, brow furrowed in thought. “You know Baze. It wasn’t very subtle. But it was _attempted_ subtlety, I think.”

“Probably made the attempt under duress from his nosier half,” Jyn mutters, one leg tucked up against her chest, the other carefully laid out on the control panel so she’s not knocking accidentally against any buttons. “Chirrut was _awfully_ judgmental about our sleeping situation.”

“They’re going to get annoying very quickly once they figure it out,” Cassian says. He adjusts their course, fiddling with the calculations for a few more moments before finally turning to face her. “Is there a reason we have to tell them?”

“I don’t think so. It’s more fun if we make them guess, isn’t it?”

Cassian snorts, replies, “you could put it that way.”

“Why? How would you put it?”

“I don’t care if it’s more entertaining. I just want them to shut up.”

Jyn chuckles, spins her chair around a bit to face him, eyebrows raising.

“Unless they’ve changed _dramatically_ in the past month, I can’t imagine they will.”

“No, they haven’t changed. And they’re already so smug.”

“About anything in particular? Or just in general?”

“In general, always. But they were right that you would not leave us. I thought what Draven showed you…well. You know the rest. They thought that was ludicrous.”

Jyn hums agreement, spins back to face the viewscreen.

“Well, they were right about that, and you should know I’ll take their side every time that comes up.” But it’s said gently enough, and she smiles softly when she says it, so he’ll know she’s joking. “We don’t have to tell them anything. They can figure it out on their own. Besides. Makes it a little more challenging, keeping this to ourselves.”

“Yes, because what we _really_ need are more challenges,” Cassian says with a laugh. It sounds just this side of bitter, but when Jyn reaches out, trails her fingertips along his knee, grins at him, he softens. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did. Even in your sleep last night, you were wound up. Don’t think I don’t notice these things. You’re worried. You try to act like you’re not, but you are. I think Chirrut was right.”

“He usually is.”

“About you not wanting to survive the battle at Kazadu.”

“ _Usually_ , I said.”

“You didn’t plan beyond it, did you?”

“I certainly didn’t plan for all of us to run off together without an idea of what to do.”

“Pirates,” she reminds him.

“Pirates,” he agrees. Her hand is still on his leg, her fingers trailing over it, and he joins his fingers to hers. Looking down at them, entwined, moving aimlessly around each other. Jyn lets the silence stretch out comfortably between them before she breaks it.

“You’re worried we’ll fail. That we’ll end up dying or have to crawl back and beg for scraps from the Rebellion, and you think you will have taken us all down with you. If you had died, it would have just been you, and of course you prefer it that way.”

“How _Chirrut_ of you.”

She shrugs slightly. Smiles, victorious.

“It wouldn’t be true, of course. You dying would hurt all of us. But I shouldn’t have to say that.”

“No.” (He can admit to that, even if he doesn’t understand _why_ it’s true.) “I don’t know. I am worried about all of it.”

It feels like a victory to get him to even say the word _worried_ aloud. He is not a man who admits to anything easily. But she also doesn’t want to push him too far. She doesn’t want to ruin the softness of this moment with more reflections of such an unhappy memory.

“You know, K says our odds of survival have actually gone _up_ since we left the Rebellion.”

“He _would_ say that. I think he likes the idea of me being fully in charge more than he should. Not that it makes him any less annoying about his own private rebellion.”

“I think he thinks he’s the first mate now.”

“You might be right.”

“Shall we remind him that I’m a general?”

“He’ll point out that you were general of a defense force for a specific colony.”

“Mm. You’re right. I’ll figure out a counter argument soon enough. The point is that we’ll be all right. It hasn’t even been a full day. Yesterday, you were hanging off the side of a tank. Today, tomorrow, we have time to figure it out.”

“Any ideas?” He looks a little hopeful, a little joking.

“Actually, yes.”

Spinning to face him fully, pulling her leg from the console and bracing it against his chair instead, she gives him a slightly sheepish smile. Cassian knows it for what it is.

“Something about your face tells me I won’t like this.”

“It involves my extensive criminal network. I have to doubt you’re going to be happy with it.”

“Oh, it’s extensive now?”

“Mhm.”

“I suppose I should be taking advice from you. Seeing as how we are pirates now.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Captain,” she points out, smiling innocently to set off the obvious intention behind her emphasis of the title. He narrows his eyes at her, leaning in to retaliate, but the cockpit door fairly _slams_ open. Which doesn’t make sense, of course it doesn’t, it’s all done by the push of a button, but it seems louder and more jarring than it ever has before. And then K-2SO comes stomping in, effectively ruining whatever moment was brewing.

“K,” Jyn says, pulling her leg back to her own side of the cockpit so quickly that it tweaks her knee. The droid doesn’t notice anything at all, simply pushing into the space between the pilot’s and co-pilot’s chairs, inadvertently sending Jyn spinning back toward the front. He ignores them both, beginning to flip switches, look over readouts, check the radar.

“You are wounded, Cassian,” he says before Cassian can ask him what he’s doing. “You cannot be counted on to provide your usual level of competency. I am here to double check your work.”

“That’s why _I’m_ here,” Jyn points out. K-2SO gives her a look that is so outrageously disgusted that it makes her laugh through her annoyance.

“I can’t tell. Was that a joke?” he asks. Jyn rolls her eyes towards Cassian, who bites his lip and looks down at the ground.

“Right,” she says. “Cassian? Lothal. We should go to Lothal. Here.” She nudges K-2SO to the side (shoving him slightly into Cassian’s chair, which makes both droid and man make eerily similar indignant sounds) and begins to enter coordinates into the database.

“Cassian, why is she doing this?” K-2SO asks, voice strained.

“It’s coordinates to the city of Jalath. I had a contact there, not too long ago. Partisan sympathies, rebel sympathies. Perhaps a bit overzealous at times, and not very pleasant to do business with, but trustworthy enough. If he’s still there, he’ll have a whole network of people who need our assistance. It’s a start.”

“Um, yes, thank you. That’s exactly what we need,” Cassian says, still looking a bit flattened in his corner, K-2SO still standing far too close. Jyn gives him a sloppy, ironic salute, gives K-2SO another ‘accidental’ shove, and makes her way back into the main hold.

* * *

It becomes habit, after that, to spring apart when the doors start to open. Sitting too close on the couch in the main hold, Cassian’s hand on her back as they both bend over the datapad on which Jyn has written down the names and affiliations of every one of her contacts who might be counted on for supplies. But Bodhi comes out of his cabin, announcing his presence with a loud yawn, and suddenly they could fit another person between them with room to spare.

Or Jyn leaning up to kiss Cassian in the cargo hold, making sure none of the others are around before she does it, suddenly swerving to pretend to be reaching for a crate up high when the door hisses open, admitting Baze.

Or in Cassian’s room that night, finally alone, Jyn barely having time to slide Cassian’s jacket from his shoulders before there’s a knock on the door, K-2SO demanding Cassian’s presence in the cockpit.

“This is ridiculous,” Cassian mutters, his forehead resting in despair against her shoulder.

“We’ll be at Lothal in the morning,” Jyn reminds him. “Go see what he wants. Tell him to fuck off. Then get back here.”

* * *

“I’m starting to think he suspects something,” Cassian says.

The street in Jalath down which he and Jyn are walking is noisy, crowded, but Jyn still looks over her shoulder to make sure they aren’t being overheard. Bodhi is a respectable distance behind them, far enough back and so engrossed in a datapad that he’s clearly not listening.

“Which him?” she asks. “There are four _hims_ , Cassian.”

“K. He kept me out there for hours.”

“I noticed. I’m the one who had to fall asleep cold and alone, remember. _You_ got to snuggle up once I’d already warmed the sheets for you.”

“If I have to hear one more excuse about updating the ship’s navigation protocols, or needing my presence just in case anything goes wrong with his backup, or that nonexistent software bug in the enviro controls…”

“I _know_ ,” Jyn laughs, and Cassian looks at her, apologetic.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…exhausting.”

“Believe me, you aren’t the only one annoyed. I used to be able to sit in my cabin for hours with no interruptions, and suddenly it’s as if no one can stand to leave me alone.”

“Hey, what are you talking about up there? Is it important?” Bodhi calls up. Jyn refrains only barely from sending a pointed look in Cassian’s direction. She turns to look over her shoulder at the pilot instead.

“Just making conversation,” she says. “It’s just around this next left up here. How’re we doing?”

“No significant ordinance showing up, and no Imperial comms signatures for blocks. Um. Before we go in there, there’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?”

“On the comms. This guy. You’re sure about him?”

His concern spreads instantly to Cassian, whose furrowed brow and the way his hand moves instinctively towards his holster tells Jyn that he’s been waiting for trouble.

“I _was_ sure about him, before you went and used that tone. What is it?”

“You couldn’t have mentioned this before we left the ship?” Cassian points out.

“No, it’s not…I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Not a betrayal problem. Or an ending up dead problem. It’s just…he said a few things about you, Jyn. That were. Um. Inappropriate? I’d say inappropriate.”

Cassian stops walking, turning to face Bodhi fully, and Jyn growls, pushing him toward the overhang of a nearby shop, tugging Bodhi along with them.

“This is why I wanted both of you back at the ship.” When both hasten to defend themselves, hasten to explain the impossibility of leaving her on her own and entirely undefended, she keeps going, “ _you_ think you have to protect me, and I appreciate that, Bodhi. I really do. And _you_ think I’m too reckless and am going to risk the mission or myself in the process of a simple conversation. Yes, Kev is a nerfherding asshole, and yes, I’m sure he _did_ say some rather inappropriate things about me. But I have this under control. I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Bodhi is the first to break, as expected. He wilts under Jyn’s stare, nods, adjusts his goggles on his head as if to remind himself that they’re there, or maybe to replace the totem of the kyber crystal that he insisted on giving back to Jyn the moment she boarded. Cassian is slower. He’s looking at her like he’s trying to read the entirety of her past with Kev. But he, too, nods.

“Good,” she says, releasing both of their jackets, stepping back out into the street. “Bodhi? Can you give us a minute?”

A bit obvious, but Bodhi goes with an only slightly confused expression, and that’s good enough. Jyn waits until he’s pretending ( _far too obviously_ pretending) to examine the wares at a stall selling wall art, and then she turns to look at Cassian.

“There’s a history,” Cassian says, guessing before she even opens her mouth.

“Yes. Not an entirely pleasant one, but…yes.”

“And you think I’m not able to handle that?”

“This is all new to me, Cassian. I don’t know. Can you?”

Her frustration soothes him, she thinks, because he touches her elbow briefly. The smallest of gestures, curling around her arm before letting his hand fall again.

“You said not entirely pleasant. Should we be concerned by that?”

“No. I thought there was a chance he wouldn’t even mention it, wouldn’t want to bring it up, but Bodhi said…” She lets out her breath through her teeth, clenched in a grimace. It’s strange to feel so detached from Tanith, the girl who wound up on Lothal by chance and went home with Kev that first night because of the promise of a job in the morning. Survival was the only thing that mattered to Tanith. It was the only option. But now? Jyn Erso is an entirely different sort of person.

Stepping back into Kev’s presence, with Cassian and Bodhi at her back, is going to be more difficult than she thought.

“We don’t have to do this,” Cassian says. “We can find another way.”

“It would just be easier. If you hadn’t come with me,” she replies. It’s gentle, and she hopes he understands what she means when she says that. Cassian makes a face that probably matches her own.

“Jyn. You know better than most people that I am not in a position to judge anyone. And I would never judge you.”

She wants to kiss him. She settles instead for a soft smile that probably telegraphs her intentions just as well.

“You always know exactly what to say,” she says.

“Spy,” he explains with a shrug.

But his soft smile telegraphs his intentions too.

* * *

Kev Voxan is exactly as irritating as she remembers. His face is set into a steady leer before she even fully enters the shop.

“If it isn’t little Tanith,” he says, drawing himself up straighter. “When your crewmate contacted me, I thought for sure he must be lying. It’s been so long!”

“I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“Beautiful as ever. And I’m assuming I can expect the same tongue? Or will I maybe get a little warmth from you for once? For old time’s sake”

 _That_ gets a barely audible sigh of disgust from Bodhi. Cassian is silent, though Jyn doesn’t think she’s imagining the tension coming from behind her. Then again, maybe that’s just the tension _she_ feels. Maybe Cassian was right to worry. If she was alone, Kev’s head would be through the window.

“You seem to be about as observant as ever,” Jyn drawls. She gestures towards Cassian. “My husband, Zeth. And my brother, Naiad. So I’d watch _your_ tongue.”

“You came with threats?”

“No. I came with backup. I’m sure you’ll remember the last time I was here? I had a _very_ interesting conversation with your wife. She threatened to kill me if I came ‘round again. You can’t blame me for taking precautions.”

The meaning of her words is clear. It _has_ to be. Kev knows her well enough, or knows _Tanith_ well enough, that he knows she’s always scheming. Always a step ahead. Tanith had to be. Just like Liana. Just like every alias Jyn has ever adopted, for any amount of time. There was no backup for her then. There was no one who would come along with her just because they were worried, or to make sure she didn’t make things worse. There was no one.

Kev looks her over again, his eyes darting to either side of her, taking in her protectors as afterthoughts. For all his faults, Kev would never assume she couldn’t take him on her own if she had to. He has more sense than that. Not _much_ more, certainly. But he always respected her when it came to that.

“Why are you here?” he asks. Jyn steps forward, hands shoved into the pockets of her vest, scuffing her boot on the ground, utterly casual.

The last time she was here, Kev’s hands roamed under her shirt, his fingers and tongue and hips falling into a familiar rhythm. As familiar as anything else, anyway. Tanith hadn’t had much stability in her life, but Kev was always good for a job and a place to stay the evening. Not much of a friend, and not particularly concerned with her pleasure, but Tanith didn’t care about those things as much as Jyn does. At times, she found his odious presence oddly comforting. At least he was consistent.

“I want work,” she says. “We have a crew, and we’re willing to take on rebel jobs.”

“ _Rebel_ jobs? _You_? What happened to not taking sides?”

“I grew up,” Jyn replies. Kev grins, slightly proud.

“Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Well, you have. Are you going to help us out?”

“I don’t know you anymore, Tanith. I certainly don’t know your husband, or your brother who looks _comically_ nothing like you. How do I know this isn’t some Imperial trap?”

“If I was Imperial, I’d have killed you already. You’d have been raided long ago. And if you need motivation, I still know how to get in contact with your wife. I think she might be interested to hear that what she walked in on a few years back was more than just a one-time passionate kiss initiated by a girl who didn’t know you were married. You think?”

“There you are,” Kev says. Oddly nostalgic, for a man who has just been threatened. “There’s the Tanith I remember.”

The Tanith he remembers is gone, burned off on Scarif, or maybe washed away on Eadu. Whoever she was, she’s been dead a long time now. But Jyn remembers the steps to this dance. She knows to smile, tilt her head to one side. Plucky and savage and ruthless. That was Tanith. That was Jyn.

“What do you say? Are you going to make this more difficult than it has to be? Or are you going to behave yourself?”

* * *

Walking back through the city streets, Jyn feels eyes on her, and she knows that Kev will have sent someone to follow them. Making sure they don’t meet up with anyone suspicious before returning to their ship. Making sure she’s trustworthy before he cuts her in.

“Did it work?” Bodhi wonders, and Jyn shrugs, looking back at him. He and Cassian are walking side by side, both of them carrying themselves in a way that tells her they’re as unsettled as she feels.

“It probably worked,” she says. “Kev is just being cautious. Saying he has to wait for his contacts to get back to him was an obvious lie. The man is always deeply involved with everything. He has jobs waiting. He’s just not sure if he can trust me.”

“What if he tries to check in on your old alias? Surely it’s been burned by now.”

“Of course it has. He’s always known that’s not my real name.” Silence, and Jyn glances back at the other two. Cassian is looking at her doubtfully. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Seriously? We’ve all had to do unpleasant things to survive, Cassian.”

“That’s not…I wasn’t…I just don’t like thinking of you out here alone, that’s all. It must have been difficult.”

Warmth spreads through her fairly quickly at that, at the lack of judgement and the unexpected sympathy. Not pity, not exactly. She wouldn’t like to hear pity. But empathy. _We’ve all had to do unpleasant things to survive._ He would understand that better than most.

“Well…thank you,” she mutters. “At least he’s useful.”

“I hope so too.”

There’s a lot being unsaid, a lot passing in the short look that Cassian gives her, looking her over like he’s checking her for damage, scanning her for hurts that might be showing, coming back to this part of her life that she probably thought, probably hoped, was over.

But the moment has to end. And, in fitting with the events of the past few days, it ends because one of their crewmates interrupts them.

“You two realize that I _know_ what’s going on here, right?” Bodhi asks, almost pained. Jyn’s eyes snap back to his, her face coloring when she sees from the knowing, amused expression on his face that there’s no chance he’s talking about something other than the thing she _really_ wishes he wasn’t talking about.

“Um, I’m offering my…sympathy?” Cassian tries, but he winces immediately at the look on Bodhi’s face and seems to realize that it’s hopeless. “How did you know?”

“You know, just because I have no interest in this sort of thing for _myself_ , it doesn’t mean I can’t see it in other people. And also, um. The two of you kissing each other while you’re lying injured in her bed on Kazadu is a bit obvious.”

“You saw that?”

“Yeah. Opened the door and walked in. Walked out immediately after. And you think _I’m_ oblivious.”

“No, no, Bodhi, we don’t,” Jyn assures him, taking his arm, though she’s stifling laughter all the same. There’s something so ridiculous about this. “We don’t think you’re oblivious. We just…didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“Because you all are exhausting,” Cassian points out.

“Well, you’re welcome, by the way, because I closed the door before K saw.”

“Ugh, I just got sick thinking about the possibility,” Jyn mutters. Cassian breathes out a sound that speaks of agreement.

* * *

They don’t have to wait long: two hours after getting back to the ship, Kev contacts them. He sends a young boy, carrying a datapad with a list of possible targets, planets, rebel cells that aren’t Alliance-affiliated and thus need more help than others. It has summaries of the situations. It has instructions on how to contact the relevant people, it has recommendations, it has contextual explanations.

“I’m trying _very_ hard not to be smug about this,” Jyn says, watching Cassian scroll through the datapad as they sit in the main hold, all of them waiting for his deliberation.

“This is good, Jyn,” he says, as if he hadn’t heard her bragging. Possibly he didn’t. “I know someone on Ryloth who can confirm this for us. I’ll send them a message once we’ve done a few jumps.”

They pick up some supplies, some rations. They refuel. New clothes. New weapons. And then they leave Lothal behind, the list of their new jobs with them.

* * *

Jyn has hardly put away her datapad to get into her sleep clothes when the knock comes on her door. And then Cassian enters, closes the door behind him, his face scrunched up in thought.

“I just realized something,” he says. Jyn waits, eyebrows raised.

“And?”

“Chirrut knows.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s Chirrut.”

“That’s fair.”

“If Chirrut knows, that means Baze knows.”

“Obviously.”

“And we already know that Bodhi knows. So…are we really just sneaking around because of K? Is that the only reason?”

“Um…it would seem that way.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as a little ridiculous?”

“Of course it does. Granted, I’ve always questioned why your best friend is a droid, so ‘ridiculous’ is a bit of a nebulous area for you.”

Cassian glares at her, runs his hand through his hair. He looks genuinely anxious about this, and Jyn has to stifle a laugh.

Part of it, she thinks, is being allowed to find this as funny as she does. Being allowed to look at him and see him wearing stress about something as simple as the inherent absurdity of hiding a new relationship from a droid.

To watch him like this, standing there, his concerns being what they are, with such reduced stakes, it feels light in a way that nothing else has for such a long time. The past few days have been fraught with tension of all kinds. The tension of worrying where their next credits will come from. The tension of fearing that Cassian will regret having left the Rebellion. Even the tension of _wanting_ , the tension of Cassian’s injuries and her own nervousness keeping her from more than gentle touches when every part of her burns to have him closer, knowing how he feels about her. All of that tension has bled away in this moment, and it’s just them.

“You’re laughing at me,” he says, a little accusingly, and she spreads her arms in apology.

“It’s not our biggest problem at the moment, that’s all,” she says. “But I’m glad to see you so worried about it. Better than the constant worry about the inevitable subjugation of the galaxy beneath Imperial rule.”

“Inevitable?” Cassian asks, obviously annoyed by that determination. Jyn groans, rolls her eyes, gets up from her bed. She winds her arms around Cassian’s neck, pulls him in for a kiss.

She wonders when kissing him will stop feeling like a luxury. When it will fade gradually to something she takes for granted. Something she isn’t surprised by. Part of her hopes that that moment never comes. Part of her hopes that it’s this new forever. But at the same time, part of her yearns for that feeling of domesticity. The easy comfort of something that has become routine. Something like what her parents had, once, in hazy memories that don’t feel quite real anymore.

“Stop it,” she says. “Stop thinking. Stop worrying. Come to bed. If they all know, there’s no point waiting for them all to fall asleep.”

“And K?” he wonders.

“Do you want to be the one to tell him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Neither do I. So we keep it from him a while longer. What’s the harm? He’ll be angry either way.”

“Comforting.”

Sarcastic. But he kisses her anyway.

“It _is_ a bit childish, isn’t it? Hiding this from a droid.”

“You don’t seem displeased by that,” he notices. His voice is soft when he says it, like he understands why.

“I’m not displeased,” she admits. “Never had much opportunity to be childish before. It’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

He’s worried, she realizes. Worried about this, about her, about how she’s going to react to this new thing forming slowly between them. She strokes his skin with the pad of her thumb, reassuring the spot where his neck curves to meet his shoulder.

“It’s nice,” she repeats. “It’s such a mundane thing to worry about. It feels like…normalcy. I don’t know. Not that I’d know what normalcy feels like.”

“Neither would I,” Cassian admits. “So…we keep hiding.”

“Sneaking. Hiding implies inaction. This is an active subterfuge, Captain.”

He allows a small grin at that, his hands drifting lazily to her waist.

“A pirate spy,” he says. “You’re fantastic. Is there anything you don’t do?”

“Follow orders. Fly ships. Cook.”

“Ah, well. I do all of those things. Between us, we have a full complement of skills.”

“You can cook? Why have we been eating nutrient paste all this time? Ration bars? You’ve been holding out on us.”

“Once we start making some credits, I’ll see what I can do with fresh ingredients,” Cassian says with a fond laugh. Jyn stares up at him, close to him, feeling her smile flickering over her face.

“We’re going to be okay,” she says. It was meant to be a question, initially, but it didn’t quite come out as one. It came out as certainty.

“We are,” he agrees, softer.

“And you. How are you feeling? About…all of that. Leaving. Pirating. Kev.”

“Well, Kev’s an unfortunate factor, and none of the rest of it seems quite real, yet. But…I’m glad we didn’t go back.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I never could have been happy there, with the risk of them finding out everything. The risk of Draven pulling me into something else. He would only have to speak a few words, and I would think ‘he’s right. I have to take this job’. Even now, sometimes, I start to think about it, and this? All of this? It starts to feel selfish. Like an indulgence. I think, _I don’t deserve this, I should be doing everything I can for the Rebellion, I should be back there suffering_. That isn’t the sort of thing that changes in a few days. But it’s survivable.”

“Survivable,” Jyn says gently, pushing a little closer, so he’ll feel her warmth, so he’ll know she’s here for him. “Well, I’ll be with you no matter what you decide. So will the others.”

“I could never have dreamed someone like you,” Cassian says. It would probably sound like a line, had it come from anyone else. From Cassian, it feels like truth wrested from deep within. She pulls him tight, hugging him fully. She understands what he means by _someone like you_. He means someone who stuck around. Someone who trusted him, who chose him, who _loved_ him, even if he doesn’t know that last part for sure yet.

“I know,” she says. It means _I feel the same way about you_.


	2. I Don't Know Who I Am Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the well wishes and the comments on last chapter! It was really awesome to read them all during the three stressful days I was away from this story. This chapter is still mostly talking, but there's a hint of what will be the plot of the rest of this mission! Finally! 10,000 words in!

Rogue One’s first _real_ assignment for Kev involves smuggling a Twi’lek family off Cloud City and getting them back to Ryloth without being tracked. The assignments that came before it were tests, mostly. Things like providing a decoy ship for a smuggling run, or delivering messages from one planet to the next. Obviously low-stakes missions that were probably watched closely by Kev’s people, to make certain that Tanith and her crew weren’t going to screw them over first chance they got. It takes a little less than two weeks for them to get the Ryloth job.

It probably would have taken longer, if not for Baze. He had advised them to go for the jobs that had good money attached. Their test jobs for nearly two weeks might not have been exciting, but they kept Rogue One well supplied, gave them a sizeable pile of credits they could fall back on in emergencies, and Baze was right: their obviously mercenary choices seemed to cast off suspicions far quicker than choosing the morally-correct but low-paying jobs would have.

Jyn can imagine Kev thinking, _you haven’t changed at all, have you, Tanith?_ She can imagine how smug and superior he must feel to think that her insistence that she has rebel sympathies now really _is_ just another way to make some credits. He must feel secure, must think he still knows her after all, must think he can trust her to the same degree he trusted her before.

Baze, to his credit, isn’t nearly as smug about it as Chirrut probably would have been (although Chirrut is sure to make up for it by being smug _for_ him).

* * *

The mission to Ryloth hits a few more bumps than expected, which ends up adding a few more days of recovery time for both Cassian and Baze: Cassian re-injures his ribs fighting Cloud City security as a distraction, and Baze’s burn from Kazadu tears open when he takes a ride on _top_ of a Cloud car, but there’s nothing a few days of rest won’t fix.

Despite loud protests from the injured captain and guardian, Jyn and Bodhi make the final drop-off on Ryloth alone, and they transfer the Twi’lek family back to their home village. There are some new contacts to be made, some new friends, and they enjoy a brief celebration before heading back up into the mountains to where Rogue One has been hidden.

* * *

“Our first real assignment,” Jyn says, a smile playing over her lips as she raises her glass. The others echo the sentiment, and they drink, and K-2SO sighs and complains to nobody in particular about drunkenness being utterly unamusing when you can’t _get_ drunk.

Jyn knows how this works, now. There will be a period of a few hours in which they are all content to settle in and listen to stories, tell stories, exchange jokes. The main hold will feel overwhelmingly of a job well done.

But then, gradually, they will start to feel antsy. Quiet companionship will start to feel like idleness. Comfort will feel unearned. They will all want to know what their next move will be.

It might always feel like this, she knows. It might always feel like they aren’t doing all that they could, and that there is so much more to be done. That hasn’t started to feel like a bad thing yet. It hasn’t started to feel as exhausting as it probably will. But she can feel it stretching in front of her. When will be enough? She can’t imagine it _ever_ being enough.

She’s wedged between Cassian and Bodhi on the couch in the main hold, half-listening to Chirrut tell a story she’s already heard at least three times. Technically, she and Cassian have yet to admit or disclose anything about their relationship, although they’ve gotten fairly sloppy about it: Cassian’s arm is thrown across her shoulders now, and his thumb strokes a careless circle against her sleeve. The others either don’t notice or don’t say (don’t say, almost certainly). More and more, it feels like the kind of thing that doesn’t need saying. As if they skipped past the awkward stage where they might have felt obligated to discuss it, and now it’s just a given. Not that they aren’t perfectly professional when they’re sober. But the relaxation of after a mission always brings the quiet, gentle touches like this one.

Granted, they have yet to give in to the actual _desire_ part of it. Mostly because of Cassian’s ribs, partly because K-2SO always seems to find the perfect moment to interrupt anything, and partly because both of them are a little too nervous, a little too skittish, to make the first move.

Not something either of them would be willing to admit, when it came down to it, but Jyn has a feeling that it’s going to be one of those things that happens very suddenly and without warning, the tension building up until it can’t be ignored anymore.

Which makes sense, considering that’s how this whole thing even _started_.

But for now, safely leaning against him, Jyn feels none of that uncomfortable pressure. She feels accepted, warm, _home._ Wanting to head off the inevitable crash of feeling like they should be doing something, she pulls up her datapad, scrolling through a few of the new potential assignments that Kev sent her this morning. Not with any real thought of choosing one, but with a tipsy idea that she’s getting a head start so that she can pull out some options the moment the warmth starts to fade. Like she can head off the slight disappointment that always seems to come with realizing that it still isn’t enough.

Maybe that half-serious approach to it is why it takes her a few lines into a report to realize that she recognizes some of the names she’s reading.

Cassian seems to notice her shift in mood as she scrolls back up to read it more carefully. He looks over at her, taking a sip from his glass, waiting for her to answer the unspoken question.

“The Kophan resistance,” she says quietly, almost apologetic under the loud bickering that one of Chirrut’s story details has met with from the other three members of the team. “They requested Rebellion assistance. It was never answered.”

“When did they request it?”

“Little more than a week, it seems like. One of the women I met there, She’bara, she was the one who applied for aid. She says they’ve taken heavy losses. I guess she joined the Resistance after all. Why wouldn’t the Rebellion answer?”

Cassian considers, his expression shifting into a bit of a grimace.

“They might not trust the intel. It might be more trouble than it’s worth. Kopha probably isn’t too high on their list of priorities. Not a lot of strategic value.”

Jyn nods, accepting that. She remembers She’bara, remembers the Chiss woman’s ambivalence about the Rebellion. Her insistence that the two sides of the war weren’t so different after all.

“It could be a trap,” she says. “She’bara wasn’t too fond of the Rebellion last I was there. Still. People change. People can change much quicker than this.” Thinking, obviously, of her own post-Eadu change of heart. Her post-Scarif commitment to the Rebellion and to the team that she had only just forged. Cassian watches her. She can feel it as she scrolls through the rest of the information. Kir’s name comes up. Wex, too. She _knows_ these people. They helped her. She’bara may have been a mystery, but the others…

“You think it might be worth investigating,” Cassian says.

“They’re the only reason I’m still here.”

He murmurs an agreement at that, and his arm tightens just a bit around her shoulders.

“It would be good. To fight the Empire again.”

His words are a bit confusing, because Jyn is just a bit this side of buzzed, and because she’s pretty sure she hasn’t stopped fighting the Empire since the Rebellion took her from Wobani.

Well, technically longer, considering she was in Wobani for literally fist-fighting Imperial investigators.

“We’ve _been_ fighting the Empire,” she says, looking up at him. And he makes a face that admits the truth of that, but he tries to figure out the wording of the argument he wants to make.

“We’ve been fighting the Empire to survive. I miss fighting them for no reason at all. Just because they’re so…terrible.”

Jyn grins at him. The tone is nonchalant, and he takes another sip of his whiskey, as if to prove how careless it is, but she understands him.

“We’re never going to make a real pirate out of you, are we?” she asks. Cassian’s expression in response holds some surprise in it, like he’s not sure what she’s trying to say.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he asks. She shakes her head, slightly wistful.

“Draven said something to me…” she starts, and he snorts, disappears back into his glass. “I take your point, but he wasn’t wrong. He said you’d never be satisfied unless you were giving your whole self to the Rebellion.”

Now there’s more than just surprise: there’s alarm, and she wonders if it’s because it isn’t true or if it’s because it _is_. She watches him, waiting for him to decide what to say.

Finally, he says, “do you believe that?”

“I suppose I do. It’s true, isn’t it?”

“I…” he shrugs, looks down at his glass, and she knows that she’s upset him. In her pleasant haze, it’s a bit surprising. She can’t fathom why he would be so hurt by the truth.

“Cassian, it’s not...it wasn’t mean to be hurtful. I thought you would agree.”

“I made my choice,” Cassian reminds her. She bites her lip, shakes her head.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean you’re happy. Cassian, I understand. We all do.”

Baze and Chirrut have kept up the conversation through all of this, and the others hardly seem to notice that she and Cassian are talking at all, their voices half-whispered, but she can feel Chirrut’s attention on them. That might just be because Chirrut’s attention is always on everything, or perhaps because Jyn is so worried about what Cassian is going to say. Chirrut always seems to understand exactly when and why she’s unsettled about something.

Chirrut doesn’t give Cassian a chance to answer. Maybe that’s for the best.

“What about you, Captain?” he asks, loud over the sound of Baze’s hearty chuckle. “How about a story?”

“Right,” Cassian says. He takes his arm from around Jyn’s shoulder, leaning forward to begin, and Jyn feels just a bit emptier than she did before.

* * *

It’s only later, when they’re in Cassian’s cabin, that Cassian responds to what she said. And it’s with a surprising force, a kiss pressed to her lips, his hands grabbing her upper arms tight as he pushes her up against the wall. She opens her mouth in a gasp, her worry bleeding out of her, the tension dissipating as he kisses her.

“I’m happy,” he tells her, pulling his lips only far enough away from hers that he’s able to say the words. He kisses her again before she can respond, before she can even understand why he’s saying that. “I am. I’m happy.”

She pulls back, her head thudding against the wall behind her, her mouth snapping closed with genuine annoyance, because this isn’t what she wants.

“Cassian,” she says, and the look in her eyes must tell him something, because he ducks his head, breathes out a shuddering breath. “Cassian, please. Stop it. You don’t have to _prove_ something to me.”

“Don’t I?”

“No. Of course not. I never expected…Cassian, I don’t _need_ you to be happy with leaving everything behind. I know it isn’t going to be easy. I _know_ you’re going to want to help people for more than just credits. Every blow against the Empire is important, yes, of course, but some things just feel more direct than others! It’s fine!”

He pulls away, releasing her arms, pacing across the small room.

She wonders, briefly, just how dissatisfied he _is_ , if his reaction to the accusation is so strong. And for a second, that inclination to leave, to run, to go back to her own quarters, to retreat inside herself, is strong.

But this is different now, _they’re_ different, and she can’t do that to either of them. She stands against the wall and watches him pace. His hair is out of place, and several times he pushes it angrily out of his eyes, and she can read the tension in his shoulders, can follow the way it travels down his arms, pulling his fingers into fists.

“Cassian,” she says, gentle, and he looks at her. She can see the apology in his eyes. It’s not what she wants from him. It’s not what she needs from him. But he’s always so ready to give it. “Cassian, none of this was ever going to be easy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it the way I did. And I’m sorry if you thought you had to pretend for me.”

“I don’t…” he starts, but he cuts himself off, his teeth coming together with an audible sound, and she’s frightened of whatever he’s going to say next, but she also wants to hear it. She nods, makes eye contact.

“Say it,” she says.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

And that’s it. That’s the truth he’s been hiding inside himself. It’s almost a relief to hear it. It had all seemed to be happening so easily. She should have known that he was better at keeping things to himself than she had even imagined.

“Okay,” she says, giving herself time to formulate a response, but Cassian doesn’t let her. He stalks close again, brow furrowing with thought.

“I’m still glad that we didn’t go back. But the Rebellion was everything to me. And now I have more, I have enough to replace it. But it still…it feels different. _I_ feel different. And it’s not as easy as I hoped it would be.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do. I may not have been in it for twenty years, but this is my fight now, Cassian. I miss it. I even miss Hoth. I miss the princess, and the smuggler, and I miss their stupid kriffing fights that were always about how much they want to fuck each other. I miss Skywalker’s naïve, absurd optimism. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I miss _Draven_ , but it’s different without him. It’s different without all of them. I’m not used to it either. I didn’t mean to hurt you earlier, Cassian. I really thought…I thought you were thinking that already.”

“I was,” Cassian admits, and he finally looks at her straight, lifting his chin a little. “That’s why it’s so difficult to hear. I thought I was hiding it better.”

Jyn pushes herself away from the wall, finally. She nudges him towards the bunk. Relief is pooling low inside her, because she resisted the urge to run, and he resisted the urge to hide it all away behind his blank spy’s face, and if that isn’t progress, she doesn’t know what is. She can deal with this discomfort. She can deal with this unfortunate bumpy moment between them, because she knows that in the long run, it will help them. She may not be able to say exactly _how_ , yet, but she knows it will.

Cassian lets her maneuver him into a seated position, and she sits beside him, her smile small but firm on her face.

“I don’t need you to hide these things from me,” she says. “I don’t want you to. I want you to be honest. I want you to let me be in this with you.”

“I don’t think I need to tell you that that isn’t easy for me,” Cassian says, wry and apologetic. She nods, resting her head on his shoulder. Touch has always helped them, she thinks. Touch has always centered the two of them towards each other.

“It isn’t easy for me, either. But…I’m afraid that this won’t be enough for you. That you’ll lose some of yourself, doing this. Being a pirate.” She says the last word with disdain, rather than the usual gentle self-mocking, and it catches Cassian’s attention enough for him to reach out, his hand squeezing her leg, reassuring.

“Lose some of myself?” he wonders. Before she can offer further explanation, he says, “when you found me on Kazadu, I don’t think there was much of me left to lose. This isn’t because of you. Please, I- I don’t want you to believe that. What I feel now…I think it’s been coming for a long time. Without the Rebellion to define me, I’m just…I’m nothing.”

Jyn’s voice is quiet when she answers, but she thinks he can probably tell it’s because she wants to keep her emotions from boiling over too much, too sharply, too desperately.

“There’s always been so much more to you than you’ve been willing to see. You know that.”

“I know that’s what you think,” Cassian admits, grinning at her, reluctant. But grateful, she thinks. More willing to listen than he usually is.

“You inspired me,” she says, looking up at him, not allowing herself to look away for even a moment, though the embarrassment and danger of sharing herself so fully flashes behind her eyes. “When no one else had gotten through to me in a long time. You made me believe in hope. You made me believe in- in the Rebellion, in doing a thing because it’s the right thing, even if it might get you killed. We were going to die together, Cassian. Sometimes it feels like we should have. But we keep going. If you want to go back…”

“I can’t go back.”

“But you want to.”

Cassian sighs, and she can practically feel him thinking about it. His jaw clenches, his hand curls into a fist on his thigh, then smooths out again.

“I think I’ll always want to,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I should.”

“Maybe we’ll figure out a way to…”

“Don’t. Please. You don’t have to do that.”

“Hope, remember?” Jyn asks, smile spreading slowly across her lips. Cassian looks away, but she sees the beginning of a smile at the sound of her teasing voice. “Cassian, I want you to know that it’s all right. If you feel doubt, or you’re unsure. It’s all right. Just…please. I know it’s hard for you because it’s hard for me too, right? Neither of us are good at this. I feel sick even _trying_ to talk to you about this. But I’m tired, Cassian. And I don’t want either of us to go to bed afraid or angry or…I don’t know. Thinking that we misunderstand each other. I can’t do that. We’ve taken too long to get here already. I can’t go backwards.”

“No, I know,” Cassian murmurs, and he brings his arm up around her, curls his fingers over her shoulder, pulls her closer. “I don’t want that either.”

“Codependent,” she reminds him, and he scoffs, shakes his head.

“We’ve earned it,” he says. She briefly considers making a joke about it, the dichotomy of him saying he deserves something when he more often seems to firmly believe he doesn’t. But she doesn’t say anything, only closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of this room, and this closeness, and this feeling of permanence that has started to settle over the two of them when they’re alone like this, when they’re close like this.

“We’ve earned it,” she agrees. “Thank you.”

“For _what_? Ruining our night?”

“Not laughing me out of the room the second I started to talk about our _feelings_.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“No? I probably would have.”

He pulls away from her, laughing, and she can see that he’s tired too. He does such a good job of pretending not to be in pain during the day that she forgets sometimes.

“Come on. Sleep,” she says, and together they turn down the covers.

She feels no shyness in changing into her sleeping clothes in front of him – they slept pressed against each other in underclothes long before they had even kissed, so they’ve been doing it a bit backwards from the start – but she’s chilly tonight, and so she darts under the blankets as soon as she’s finished. Cassian’s slower, more methodical, still insists on carefully putting away his clothing. It’s not Hoth cold, though, so she doesn’t need him to hurry up. She lets him take his time. Watches him.

The days and nights that pass without any forward momentum have been building steadily inside her. Seeing Kev again didn’t help – there was nothing but the physical between them, while the _physical_ is the only thing she has not yet experienced with Cassian – and Jyn fears that she has built it up too much in her head. Intimacy with Cassian – beyond the casual, unthinking intimacy that they already display with each other – has become monolithic, has become an important milestone, has become something to fear as much as she desires it.

“Are _you_ happy?” Cassian asks, suddenly, from across the room. Jyn’s distracted admiration of his body is interrupted, and she moves her eyes to his face with surprise to hear the question.

“Of course I’m happy,” she answers. It’s unthinkingly spoken, it’s a reflex to say it, but it’s true. “I have all of you with me. And we’re helping people. Fighting the Empire. That’s all I need. That doesn’t mean it has to be all _you_ need. You’re allowed to have other needs.”

“Right,” Cassian says, crossing the short distance to the bunk and lowering himself beside her. They pull up the covers, settle in. Jyn watches him struggle with something for a moment. “I’m glad, though. Um. That you’re happy. I think that makes _me_ happy.”

Jyn wrinkles her nose before she can help it.

“Shut up,” she says, almost pleading.

“Too much?” Cassian wonders.

“Too corny,” she says, nestling against him, curling her arm across his chest, gently, pulling him closer, as if to protect his ribs from anything that might happen during the night. “I told you I’d laugh you out of the room, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Cassian admits, chuckling. He searches for comfort, his face pressing against the top of her head, his arm around her, and she feels him breathe out his usual contented sigh as he achieves it. “Let’s tell the others tomorrow. About Kopha.”

“You think we should take it?”

“We owe them for helping you last time. And I think we would be of some use. Look at what you did on Kazadu. We have more experience than most pirates.”

“Mm. That’s true. Okay. Liberating a moon from Imperial rule. A tall order.”

“Too tall?”

She scoffs at that, nestles closer.

“For us? No such thing.”

* * *

“We’re going back to _Kopha_?” Bodhi asks. It’s barely an octave away from a whine.

“It’s unfinished business. It’s _our_ unfinished business.”

Bodhi seems unconvinced by Cassian’s passion.

“It’s risky.”

“Risky?” Baze asks, openly amused. “And what have we been doing for the past few days, little brother?”

“Months, more like,” Chirrut agrees.

“You defected from the Empire,” K-2SO reminds him.

“Yes, great, thank you. I just…why is everyone so obsessed with Kopha? We had a terrible time of it last time, remember. You both almost died, being dramatic and ridiculous, and everyone hated it.”

“I liked it fine,” K-2SO points out. “But _I_ may be biased.”

“There was a lot to do there,” Baze agrees.

“Plenty of troopers to fight,” Chirrut says. Bodhi throws up his hands, spins around in his pilot’s chair, starts entering the calculations as Jyn fights to hide a laugh behind her hand (and as Baze laughs rather openly on his way back to his room).

“Why can’t we ever go anywhere _nice_?” Bodhi wonders. “Well, when it falls completely apart, remember that I told you all that it would.”

“That won’t matter if we are all dead,” K-2SO says. Bodhi looks at him, withering. “Well? It won’t. If you insist, I will make a note of it in my database, although if I am destroyed again, and you are dead, therefore fulfilling the criteria of ‘falling completely apart’, my internal reminder won’t do any of us any good.”

“Yeah, actually, I don’t care how useless it is. Make a note,” Bodhi says, petulant. “Making the jump to Kopha now.”


	3. This is Why We Wanted to Keep it Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I had enough motivation to edit and post a new chapter every day??? 
> 
> I'm sorry about how long this is taking now! But honestly, my motivation has been really drying up. I haven't totally decided if I want to try and meld this mission into a good final ending, or if I want to continue with my initially-planned two Interludes and final mission, but I should decide within a few chapters what path I'm going to choose so I don't leave anything hanging! 
> 
> Thank you as always to everyone still reading and commenting! I would have lost the will to keep writing much sooner if not for your encouragement and comments and kind words.

“This is Rogue One, passcode 37FN1, requesting confirmation.”

The cockpit is too full. K-2SO has mentioned this four times in the past minute and a half, but no one’s listening. They’re all wedged as close to Bodhi as possible, listening as he tries to make contact with the Kophan resistance for the third time.

“They’re not answering,” Baze growls. “Are they dead? Or scared?”

“Scared,” Jyn and Cassian answer, equally deadpan.

“No one told them we were coming,” Cassian explains.

“They must have said something in their message to the Alliance. Something other than the passcode,” Jyn says. She scours Kev’s summary of the situation again, but can see nothing that would explain this lack of response. The passcode is correct, the coordinates are correct. So what are they missing? She has a flash of insight: She’bara was the one who made the appeal for assistance, and She’bara didn’t trust the Alliance the last time Jyn spoke to her. Maybe it’s that simple. “The channel’s secured, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bodhi says. Jyn leans in, and Bodhi scoots a bit to the side to allow her to access the comms.

“This is Rogue One, Liana Prest, passcode 37FN1, requesting confirmation. We're here to answer a request from She'bara. Anyone down there who could tell us if we’re in the right place?”

The silence is shorter than she expected, and the voice that comes back is familiar, is laced with relief.

“ _Liana_ , it’s good to hear your voice! Sorry for the hold up. You have permission to land.”

Jyn leans back, leaving the comms to Bodhi.

“Was that one of them?” Cassian asks.

“Mhm. That was Kir. She helped get me in touch with She’bara. I don’t know what they were expecting, but we’re apparently not it.”

“Expecting the rebel fleet, probably,” Baze puts in.

“At least they know it’s me,” Jyn says. Cassian makes a grunt of agreement, but he’s squinting thoughtfully through the viewscreen, and Jyn knows his mind is concocting any number of worst case scenarios.

“The Liana Prest alias,” he says finally. “Anything to it, or was that just a fake name you used at the time?”

“Fake name. Would never hold up to even the _slightest_ scrutiny. Not that it matters. She knows who I am, anyway.”

“You told her?”

A scoff, and Jyn clasps their co-pilot pointedly on his metal shoulder. “I would never. _This_ one called me _Jyn Erso_ the second he woke up.”

“I was disoriented,” K-2SO snaps back. “Newly not dead. Are we sure this isn’t a trap? If she knows you are really Jyn Erso, they may have lured you here intentionally.”

“We should definitely leave,” Bodhi says, taking up that thread immediately. “We don’t want Jyn getting hurt again, right?”

Jyn ignores him, answers K-2SO with a directness that she’s sure he will appreciate.

“Kev vets his causes very carefully,” she says. “Using a risk assessment algorithm designed for him by some financial analysts on Coruscant.” When K-2SO seems to be considering that, not _entirely_ displeased, she looks to Cassian for approval. He considers the situation, arms folded across his chest.

Finally, he says, “don’t land too close to the treeline. Get as close to the middle of that field as you can. Jyn and I will go together, and the rest of you stay here. We’ll see how legitimate this is.”

“Great, so only _two_ of us are horribly murdered or captured by the Empire,” Bodhi grumbles.

“A stunning plan,” K-2SO says, the sarcasm turning it into agreement with Bodhi’s assessment. Cassian presses the heels of both hands to his eyes, sighing out between clenched teeth, his patience rapidly disappearing.

“Minimal risk,” Jyn points out. “And it’s probably fine, anyway.”

* * *

Bodhi sees them out of the cargo bay with his usual worry, hugging them both, making them promise not to make anyone angry (Jyn’s a little offended, but accepting, when his plea on that front seems mostly to be directed at _her_ ). Chirrut and Baze promise to stay with the ship, without being asked, which of course means that they will be sneaking after their captain and first mate as soon as they can manage it without being detected, probably to set up a position where Baze can rain fire if necessary. K-2SO is the only one who seems mostly unbothered, but that’s because “there is a one hundred percent chance that Cassian will not listen to me no matter _what_ I say”, which is more sulky than usual for the droid, and which has Cassian’s mouth twitching up into a smile despite himself.

Before they leave, though, K-2SO finds a private moment with Jyn, in which he says, “I am going to contact your Kev Voxan and ask him for his algorithm.”

“If that would make you feel better, of course,” Jyn says. She thinks she might sound uncharacteristically soft, but K-2SO doesn’t react to it. He only stares down at her for a long time, processing.

“You will watch after him,” he says finally. “When I cannot.”

It means more to Jyn than she expected it would when she realizes that there isn’t even a hint of a question in K-2SO’s voice.

Still, she answers, “of course I will.”

As they set off across the field in which they’ve landed, brittle lavender grass coming up to their shins, Jyn feels none of her usual tense certainty that something is going to go wrong. Part of that, she thinks, is because she’s so relieved to be off the ship. Back when they were with the Rebellion, it always seemed to her like she could spend every hour of every day on board Rogue One without feeling anything but content. But now that there’s not much option, now that they’re trapped in there with all the worry and the pressure of trying to navigate their new roles, it feels different. It feels heavier than it used to. The air weighted down.

She isn’t the only one relieved to be out and moving, she thinks. Cassian is breathing easier, and she’s sure it’s more than just the fresh air of this surprisingly verdant area of the mostly-desolate moon. He’s alert, looking around with an expression that implies distrust, but she can’t feel the coiled tension of last night, when he paced around his cabin and tried to find the words to explain to her why he was so dissatisfied.

_I’m happy_ , he had said with desperation, and there’s a part of Jyn that wants to believe it’s possible. There’s even a part of her that knows it’s probably true, to an extent. She’s not the only one who endured a lonely, bitter childhood. A lonely adolescence. She knows she isn’t the only person who looks at people like Kes Dameron or General Syndulla, people who have allowed their hearts to be so easily melded to another person, with envy. To have something close to that is a growing comfort she didn’t know she wanted, and she knows that Cassian feels the same.

But at the same time, Cassian is a man who has lost everything he ever lived for. Gained something too, and she knows she isn’t imagining the way he looks around at the ship and the crew with pride, with affection, with _love_. But she also knows that there needs to be more for him than that.

_Do you really think that he will ever be satisfied if he’s giving less than his whole self to the Rebellion?_

* * *

They’re met at the edge of the woods by a contingent of masked resistance fighters. Most of them are wearing scarves pulled over the lower half of their faces, with goggles or heavy visors over their eyes. It’s the same kind of tactics that Saw’s partisans would use when they wanted to be able to still sneak in and out of cities without being recognized. But there’s only one blue-skinned Chiss woman on Kopha, Jyn remembers, and so She’bara stands out, her short-sleeved tunic exposing blue, tattooed arms.

“She’bara,” Jyn says in greeting, and the Chiss lowers the scarf over her mouth, flashing her teeth in a welcoming smile.

“Liana. Or…not Liana. Welcome back. Things have changed since you saw us last. Come. I’m here to take you to Aja.”

* * *

They’re hooded and bound, which isn’t entirely unexpected. Jyn hates being constricted, but she has to admire the necessity of it, especially when their hoods are taken off and they’re revealed to be underground, in some kind of cave system. The entrance needs to be protected, needs to be kept safe.

When Jyn was here last, Kopha’s Resistance forces worked out of the city of Dawara. They worked mostly out of the basements of buildings, running supplies through the underground tunnels that connected many of the old shops throughout the city. They were a small, struggling force of people who wanted so badly to be a full Rebellion but could never quite build up the clout or the manpower to do more than be a slight thorn in the side of the Imperial occupiers.

This? This reminds Jyn more of Yavin 4. Not quite to the same level, or the same effect, but there’s something organized and efficient about it. The cavern they’re in is open, spacious, packed with crates of supplies and equipment, a generator chugging in one corner, allowing flickering illumination overhead. There are maps stuck up on one wall, readouts and scribbled notes, and a holoprojector that’s currently turned off. They’ve even got a Mon Mothma of their own: a serene, ebony-skinned woman in a gold cloak, the Aja She’bara referenced, who stands at the head of the room, watching as Jyn and Cassian are relieved of their hoods and their bonds.

Jyn doesn’t look around, keeps her gaze forward, but she makes note of the fact that most of the people in his cavern have their blasters out, leveled at the ground but ready at any moment to shift to the two newcomers. She doesn’t have to look at Cassian to know that he’s noticed it as well.

“Welcome,” Aja says. “I apologize for the precautions, but I’ve been assured that you’ll understand them.”

“Of course,” Jyn replies.

“We’re here to help,” Cassian says, his voice calm and understanding, looking around as if to address everyone, though Jyn knows he’s doing it for more practical reasons: counting blasters, people, exits.

“You’ll understand if we can’t take that at face value. We’ve waited days for aid from the Alliance, and expected _some_ kind of response. To receive only one ship, unannounced, goes counter to what we were told we would get from the Rebellion. I’ve been told that you were here before, Liana?”

Aja speaks like Mon Mothma, in addition to giving off the same peaceful feeling. She has the same patient, calm way about her, the same internal serenity that extends to everyone around her. Jyn doesn’t feel entirely comforted by that. It’s easy to hide bad intentions behind a manner so steeped in pleasantries. Then again, she hadn’t trusted Mon Mothma at first, either.

“We both have been here, yes,” Jyn replies. She doesn’t correct Aja’s use of her name just yet, although it’s on the tip of her tongue. It feels natural to keep posturing like this, to allow this seemingly scripted conversation to continue in the way it has. It seems necessary, even. She wonders if She’bara is in the room, but she doesn’t want her examination to seem too pointed, and so she keeps her eyes on Aja’s.

“Then you would have noticed how much it has changed.”

“I did. The resistance effort was not half so organized the last time I was here.”

That seems to touch Aja, and she looks proud. She smiles, looks down at her hands, spread across the roughhewn wooden table in front of her, the way Mon Mothma always seems to stand.

“We’ve made some important gains in the past few months, but that’s because people had reason to finally start fighting back. The Empire grew bolder, tried building up their garrison here. As they lose more planets to infighting and resistance and rebel takeovers, they grow more deeply entrenched in the planets they _do_ have.”

“Why did you reach out to the Alliance now?” Cassian asks. He shifts awkwardly, and Jyn thinks of his Scarif-injured leg. Kneeling on the hard stone floor like this can’t be good for it. But it’s important not to show any weaknesses, and she knows that he won’t. Having them remain kneeling here feels like something of a power play, or an attempt to remind them that they’re guests here, surrounded by people who could become enemies upon a simple order. It chafes on Jyn, makes her feel even more constricted than the hood and the bindings did, but she trusts Cassian’s judgement. If he’s going to keep playing along, then so will she.

Aja takes a moment to consider them both, her expression betraying nothing. Not so shuttered off as Cassian’s blank spy’s face, but a more carefully worn mask of nothingness. She was a politician, before, Jyn can tell. She was probably a very good one.

“As we gathered our forces, as we convinced more people to join us, we thought that we could handle this on our own. I suppose we were naïve, or maybe just hopeful. It seemed possible that we could win our battles ourselves. That we could win our own private war. But we’ve suffered some setbacks. Some of our higher ranking members were captured and executed. Some of our hiding places were eliminated. We had cells all over Dawara and Kastor and Perralt, but those numbers have diminished sharply. Whole cadres wiped out. Whether through a traitor or through poor luck or through Imperial competence, we haven’t been able to discover, but…we risk losing control of the moon entirely. Those still trapped in the cities live in fear, starvation, unable to fight back or fend for themselves except to sign up as cannon fodder for the Imperials, forcing us to fight our own people to save them. It isn’t sustainable. We need to act swiftly before their propaganda becomes even more effectively used against us. So we thought it was time. Time to throw our lot in with the Rebellion for good. When we retake the moon, we will do whatever we can to continue to assist the cause.”

She says the last part like a pitch, and Jyn realizes the mistake: Aja thinks they are an emissary from the Rebellion.  

Fortunately, Cassian speaks up before Jyn can clumsily dispel Aja of that notion. He’s always had more tact. He’s definitely the person to handle this.

“We aren’t with the Rebellion,” he says, which is somehow even more tactless than what Jyn was going to say. Aja’s eyebrows climb a little higher with surprise, but she makes no other indication that this news is upsetting. “But we _are_ here to help.”

“I see,” Aja says. She looks at someone over Jyn’s shoulder, and she nods. “Come with me.”

Jyn helps Cassian stand as unobviously as she can, pretending at politeness rather than necessity. Cassian’s lips are pressed together when he gets to his feet, but he doesn’t let any sound escape, doesn’t give any other indication that it troubles him. When they’re both standing, they risk exchanging a glance. He seems confident. He nods at her once, curt, the corners of his lips just barely turned up. She wishes she felt the same, but she trusts him. She nods back. _I’ll follow your lead_ , it says.

* * *

Aja leads them to a smaller, private room, with a beat-up table and several mismatching chairs. She sits, much more casual than she seemed in front of the others (Leia comes to mind, and Jyn feels a pang at the thought, and she misses the princess fiercely for a moment). When she nods towards them, Jyn and Cassian sit as well. She’bara follows them in, and she takes up a spot standing behind Aja, arms folded across her chest, leaving no doubt as to her role in this.

_Now_ it feels like a negotiation.

“Not with the Rebellion,” She’bara says, hardly waiting until they’re all seated to speak. “ _There’s_ a surprise. Last time we met, you spoke so highly of them. Must have been something important to drive you away.”

“It was,” Jyn says, not hesitating.

“Not a difference in ideology, I hope?”

“No. I’m still very much against the Empire. It was just no longer possible for us to continue working with them. We struck out on our own.”

“ _Us_ ,” She’bara says, and she turns her gaze, red eyes flashing, towards Cassian. “Is this one of your shipmates? The ones who left you behind last time?”

“We didn’t leave her behind,” Cassian says, his voice blank, containing none of the defensiveness that Jyn knows is there.

“I seem to remember her needing my help to get back to your rebel base,” She’bara points out. “And I seem to remember helping her, never mind that I wasn’t so sold on the cause back then.”

“This is the mechanic?” Cassian asks. He knows it is, he knows She’bara, and he doesn’t need to be told again, but Jyn knows that he’s asking in order to sell the appearance of closenesss between them, winning over the kindness that She’bara is seemingly only ready to offer to Jyn. Jyn nods, reaches her hand out, curling her fingers over the top of Cassian’s wrist. It’s on the table between them, very much in the open. It’s an easier way to do it, she thinks. She’bara doesn’t strike her as an overly sentimental woman, but at least she’ll understand the body language. She’ll understand that Cassian is an extension of Jyn.

Aloud, Jyn confirms, “she’s the one who gave us back K.”

A good direction to go in, and she knows she judged correctly from the slight tightening at the corners of Cassian’s eyes, the barest sign of a smile.

“Then I’m grateful,” he says. He follows Jyn’s lead, resting his hand over hers on his jacket. He looks back at She’bara, the blankness gone, melting into the stated gratitude. “The droid has been with me for many years. I was devastated to lose him. Thank you for bringing him back.”

It’s almost a little much, Jyn would say, but she trusts his read of the situation. And She’bara responds as he probably hoped she would. She nods, apparently uncomfortable with the sincerity on display. Like Jyn, She’bara is a largely irreverent woman. It was a good call by Cassian: throw her off-balance, make her too uncomfortable to keep up the vague antagonism.

“We left the Rebellion because we had to,” Jyn says, drawing the attention of She’bara and Aja both. “But we continue to fight for it. Our aim is to help the people who the Rebellion cannot take the time to help. When we saw that Kopha had applied for aid, of course we came as soon as we could. I owe you everything.”

Aja glances back at She’bara to see what the Chiss woman thinks. She’bara hesitates, and Jyn recognizes the moment of fear: _I don’t know. Don’t ask me. What do I know anyway?_ So often, she has felt the panic of people looking to her for answers when she hardly has even the simplest ones for herself. But She’bara overcomes it quickly, strangles the fear inside her with both hands, and she nods.

“Good,” Aja says, not bothering to hide her pleasure. “I hope you won’t take too much offense to our precautions, or our disappointment. It isn’t that we don’t appreciate any amount of help. But, well, we were expecting…”

“We understand,” Cassian says, gentle and polite. Believable, if you don’t know him.

“If I can ask…” Aja says, glancing again at She’bara. “If you are all there is, can it possibly be enough?”

_No_ , Jyn thinks, but she looks at Cassian to see what he has to say. Her captain looks torn.

“I don’t know if it will be enough,” he admits. “I will need more information, first. Numbers. The other cells, their locations, the kind of Imperial presence we’re dealing with. But we have seen worse odds. I can promise you. And we’re still here to tell of them. The Rebellion began as a small resistance, and I believe that every action matters. No matter how small. And we will do what we can to help. If that means finding a way to gather support from the Rebellion, then that is what we’ll do.”

Jyn swallows back an aching certainty that he’s telling the truth. And, deeper still, that he believes they’ll _need_ it.

Going crawling back to the Rebellion. Just as he feared.

_This is my fault_ , Jyn thinks, miserably, before she can silence the doubt. But even then, it lingers.

* * *

They’re sent back to Rogue One so that the Kophan Resistance Council can determine what should be done. Jyn half hopes they decline the offer of help and try to hold out for the Rebellion to make an appearance. She doubts that Cassian would go without argument, but it would make sense, and she would hardly be able to fault Aja and the others for coming to that conclusion. Rogue One is good at what they do. Individually, they’re formidable. Together, they’re a force. In a kinder universe, maybe they would be lauded as heroes throughout the galaxy. But they can’t compete with the full support of the Rebellion. What are six people against an entire Imperial army?

“They need more than us,” Jyn says. They’re halfway to the ship, walking across the open field, and she knows that the resistance forces will still be watching them. But her voice is pitched low, and she doesn’t look over at Cassian. Keeps her expression blank, her posture normal. Cassian makes a noise of agreement, but doesn’t say anything in response. Jyn elaborates, “if I’d thought I could handle it on my own on Kazadu, I never would have called Draven in. But I just _knew_. The resistance forces weren’t enough. It’s the same thing here. Three hundred people? And it’s the largest cell, Aja said. Even with the other groups, they’ll suffer _heavy_ casualties.”

“Maybe,” Cassian admits.

“Maybe? Seems pretty definite to me.”

“We can still help them.”

“At great personal risk. Not only to ourselves, but to them.”

“I know.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.” He looks over at her and smiles to hear her incredulity. He gives a small shrug. “I don’t.”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“Apparently I _have_ made pirate of you. What have you done with Cassian Andor? Outrageously overprepared spy? Has an answer for everything?”

He chuckles a bit, lifts his gaze to the sky, as if admiring it.

“I don’t know,” he admits again. “I never claimed to know everything.”

“Close enough to it, though.”

“No,” he says with a gentle laugh, and the look he gives her is one that warms something within her. Maybe they don’t know what their plan is, but they’re together.

It’s dangerous, Saw would say. This optimism. This blind faith in themselves, in each other. And she knows he would be right: it’s better to be prepared for failure. _Always prepare for failure. It is the only way you can hope to succeed._

She doesn’t realize, at first, that Cassian must have learned something similar from his time in the Rebellion. That he must have already realized the odds. That he must have already formulated his plan.

* * *

Bodhi’s anxious questions don’t seem to rattle Cassian. Nor does K-2SO’s determination that Cassian must be feeling ill, to be so calm. Baze is obviously suspicious, but he doesn’t say anything. Jyn is starting to feel a little confused by it, herself, but she isn’t _worried._ Not until she notices Chirrut.

He’s wearing that expression he has on all too frequently, as if he’s trying to figure something out but can’t quite manage it. She watches him listen to Cassian’s deflections, and he seems so uncertain and so unsettled that it makes her start to question Cassian’s intentions.

When Cassian promises Bodhi, “I’ll handle it,” Jyn finds herself looking toward Chirrut, whose brow lowers even further, and who holds onto his staff with both hands, and who doesn’t say anything. When Cassian excuses himself and heads into the cockpit, Jyn follows.

“What did you mean?” she asks, once she has closed the door behind them. “When you said you’d handle it. What did you mean?”

Cassian looks over at her, slightly pained, and he takes a seat in the pilot’s chair. She knows that look. It’s that look that means he’s about to do something very self-sacrificing and stupid. She waits for him to say it anyway.

“I’m going to contact the Alliance directly. Reach out to Leia. Tell her where we are and what we need from her.”

She looks at him, tries to figure out how he feels about this. It’s difficult as ever, but he doesn’t seem to be trying too hard to hide it. When she moves to stand beside him, rests her hand on his shoulder, he makes eye contact and keeps it. His face is blank, but she can see the anticipation. He’s waiting for her reaction. He’s ready for it to be strong. Negative. Explosive, probably, knowing her the way he does.

They’re both waiting, it seems. She wishes she had a better idea of what he _really_ wants to do, but it’s difficult to tell. Oh, she knows he thinks he wants to do it. He thinks reaching out to Leia is a good idea, and he thinks there’s a good chance she’ll respond. And, in fact, Jyn agrees. She’s pretty sure that Leia will drop everything to get to them.

But as always, what Cassian _wants_ , what he actually desires, is buried under so many layers of whatever he thinks is the _right_ thing to do.

Unfortunately, he’s not one to think that distinction matters. And for once, Jyn thinks he’s right. No matter how either of them feel about so quickly going to the Rebellion for aid, it’s about more than just them. It’s about Kopha. These people need real help, need more than just what Rogue One can offer. And if the Rebellion won’t help them without incentive, and if Rogue One can _offer_ them incentive, then they should do it.

It churns inside her, makes her _sick_ , but they should do it.

“Okay,” she says.

He waits, clearly looking for more of a reaction. She shrugs, and he lets out a small chuckle.

“I expected…I don’t know. Something more, after all that last night. I know I keep changing my position on this. I know how it seems. But…this isn’t for me.”

Jyn shrugs again, sitting on the edge of the controls, just beside his chair. She looks down at her folded arms to consider how to respond.

“I’m just…concerned,” she says. “If they come here…we abandoned a field operation. We stole a ship. We may be Rebellion heroes, but I wonder if we could even hope to talk our way out of that one.”

“You might be right. We could always leave before they get here.”

“Pretty flagrant cowardice, but if it’s to save our own skins, you know I’m on board.”

“Right,” Cassian chuckles. It doesn’t sound very sincere, and he doesn’t quite meet her eyes. She just waits for him to say whatever it is he clearly doesn’t want to say. “We’ll have to face them eventually. I don’t think they’d try to…” he pauses, thinks about it some more. “Leia wouldn’t anyway. Try to detain us. Treat us like prisoners.”

“I don’t think even Draven would, would he?”

“I don’t know what Draven would do anymore,” Cassian admits. He seems defeated by that, and Jyn has to touch him. It’s a reflex. Before, before she was allowed to breach the invisible barrier that existed between them, she would try to let her support, her emotions, show on her face. She would try to let him know with words and with, maybe, a firm hand on his arm. But now, she can crouch down in front of him, between his legs, can kneel there and wrap her arms around him. Comforting him, soothing him, with her entire body. It’s still new, it’s still something she isn’t quite used to, and she’s sure she’s clumsy with it. But he’s just as tactile now as she is, his hand easily sliding into her hair as he pulls her towards him. It feels like learning to walk, learning to speak. Frustrating and halting. Uncertain. But it’s a comfort she never would have dared to hope she would one day have for herself, so she doesn’t feel nearly as self-conscious as she would have feared.

It’s made easier, too, by the fact that they’re both equally awkward in this. It’s Hoth again, it’s the realization that it was every bit as tempting and difficult and new to him as it was to her.

Her words muffled by the uncomfortable press of his shoulder, she says, “if you think it’s too risky, we could leave now. Send the message when we’re already on our way to the next job. But I think you want to stay.”

He lets out that humorless little exhale of a laugh. She feels him rest his cheek on top of her head. If anyone were to walk in now, see her kneeling in front of him like this, it would look so much worse than it is – might scar them for life, if it was poor Bodhi. But Jyn doesn’t move. Cassian needs this. They both need this.

“You’re right,” he admits. “I do. I don’t want to run from it.”

“Promise me something, then,” she says, closing her eyes, not bothering to pull back to look at him, mostly because she can’t stand the thought of moving even an inch away.

“I’ll do my best,” he says.

Even in these softest of moments, Cassian is careful with his promises. Probably because they both know he’ll break them if he thinks he has to.

“Just promise that you won’t shut me out. Don’t try to keep me from any of it. If there are to be consequences, I’ll suffer them with you. No more of this pretending to be fine while inwardly you’re torn apart. And no making deals to protect me while you take the blame. Promise me.”

“Jyn, I…”

“No self-sacrifices allowed, Cassian. If something is going to happen, if they mean to punish you for leaving, then we dodge them, and we escape them together. Or we stay and we’re punished together. I won’t leave you behind again.”

She only pulls away from him, only releases him, when she feels him nod against her head. When she looks up at him, his expression is open, pained, wounded but in such a beautiful way because she knows it’s because of a swelling of feeling, rather than a lack of it.

“I won’t ask you to leave me behind,” he says.

“I know it’s a lot to get used to. Not automatically throwing yourself in front of every blaster bolt that looks like it’s set to hit someone else.” Cassian lets out that little laugh again, rolling his eyes, though he doesn’t release her from his arms, and she smiles up at him, smug. “Besides. For all his faults, and I could spend a significant amount of time listing them, Draven doesn’t seem like the type of man who would do something as petty as charge you with treason over something like this. Especially not after he dismissed you the way he did. And considering we’ve gotten away with worse before.”

“No, Draven isn’t petty,” Cassian admits. “And he might even be called upon to be…I don’t want to say _kind_.”

“Please don’t say kind. I might airlock myself.”

“Into the Kophan fresh air? Hardly an effective threat when we’re landed. Kind is the wrong word, anyway. Fair, perhaps, is better. He might be _fair_ enough to run interference. Leadership, the Council, you’ve experienced them. They don’t take kindly to being disrespected like that. Being abandoned. People have been punished for less. And we were big for morale. We were their trophies, to be paraded around when people started to despair.”

“And they’ll be on Hoth now. A lot of despair to go around.”

“Exactly. Part of me is sure that Leia only asked us to take that assignment on Hoth in the first place because if _we_ could do it…”

“It would give people something to aspire to.”

“Right. They, the Council, _they_ would be the petty ones. Draven would interfere for us, I think, if it came to that. Or he would try to, anyway. But if they understand _why_ we left, he might not need to.”

Jyn bites her lower lip, eyes locked on his, knowing where he’s going with this but trying to figure out how he feels about it. He thinks it’s the right call. That much is obvious; he wouldn’t suggest it otherwise. But it’s also a difficult one for him to have to make.

“So what will you do?” she asks.

“I’ll send the message to Leia directly. I’ll explain what happened, what drove us away. She’s owed that anyway.”

“Part of why you couldn’t go back was because you didn’t want them to know. Leia and Mon Mothma and Pamlo. Because you didn’t want Draven dangling that over your head. And you want to _tell_ her?”

“She deserves to know the truth. Just as you did. It was never about them not finding out. That isn’t why I had to leave. I know it’s cowardly. I know what it says about me. I just…I didn’t want to have to face them once they knew.”

Jyn hates to hear the defeat in his voice when he says that. Because though Cassian has started to learn, has started to accept that she’s not going anywhere, that she thinks him brave and wonderful and everything that he never had reason to accept before, he still defaults so quickly to remembering his past deeds and thinking of them as an inescapable part of himself.

Jyn remembers brief moments of her mother and father, Lyra saying, _it wasn’t you, that wasn’t you, it was them_ , reminding Galen that his project was not his idea, that the Empire was to blame. They’re memories that meant almost nothing before the context of later years, but now that she knows, she thinks about it a lot. Thinks about the kind of comfort you can try to give a person when they blame themselves for something, when they look in the mirror and see something damning and horrible. When they aren’t even _wrong_ , necessarily, because they _did_ do the things they’re so horrified by. When it’s the _why_ that matters but they’re so shattered by what they’ve done that they can’t see it.

Not for the first time, she wonders what advice Lyra would offer, if she had survived.

“I don’t think it’s cowardly,” she says finally to Cassian. “I think it’s brave to tell them at all. And I’ll be here, no matter what they say.”

He lets out a short, small scoff, looking down at her, fairly wincing at her. And she hates that expression, because she knows what he’s thinking. The surprise is that he says it.

“I can’t believe that you’re still here after what you saw,” he admits. “After what Draven showed you. When he told me, I thought, at least I know why. At least it makes _sense_. I just…”

“I thought you knew me better than that,” Jyn points out.

“Apparently not. Part of me wanted you to stay away. Part of me wanted the others to leave as well. It felt right to be punished. Not rewarded for the things I’ve done.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jyn says. She stands up, taking his face in her hands as she does, bent close to him, looking at him with so much more feeling than she’s comfortable with showing. But this is important, and so she does it. She lets him see it. “Until you see even a fraction of what I see in you, until you understand the kind of person it takes to put their own comfort and self-worth aside because they know it’s the right thing to do, I’m not going anywhere. You deserve to know the kind of man you really are. And until you figure that out, I’ll have to be close, so I can keep telling you.”

She kisses him, then. His resultant smile is a bit awestruck.

“That sounds fair to me,” he finally says.

* * *

Cassian takes a longer time than he’d like to figure out what to say to Leia. He’s glad when Jyn offers to stay, offers to help him, but he’s also glad that she leaves without complaint when he says he’d rather do it alone.

How do you tell one of your friends, someone you admire more than almost anyone, someone whose dedication to the cause has caused her nothing but misery and who yet stands firm in it, how do you explain to that person why you had to abandon your shared cause? Especially when the reason is because of your own _feelings_?

For a long time, he can think of nothing except apologies, but Leia won’t like that. She doesn’t care how sorry he is to be doing what he’s doing. She will want to understand _why_ as quickly as possible.

“If he hasn’t already told you, you should ask Draven why I’ve gone,” is what he settles on. “I couldn’t stay there with the things that I’ve done for Intelligence hanging over me. Rogue One will be on Kopha, assisting the resistance efforts there. Same as Kazadu. Anyone you can spare would be welcome. It’s a strategic position. A lot of angry people. The Rebellion could use this.”

It isn’t a particularly well formed message, or an emotional one. But it explains. And, if he knows Leia, she’ll send people as soon as she gets it.

When he finally sends it, it does away with another weight that he didn’t realize was sitting heavy against his chest. Same as the feeling when Draven told him that Jyn had viewed his reports. Aside from the sick punch of realization that she would never look at him the same way again (and, well, hadn’t _that_ turned out to be incorrect), there was relief. She knew. He didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than the monster who performed those horrible deeds. She _knew_.

Now, the message is gone. Sent to Leia, to the Rebellion, where Mon Mothma and Draven and Dodonna and all the rest will hear it. Draven will have to show them the reports. He will have to explain what Cassian has done. Leia and Mon Mothma will _know_.

They won’t hate him. That’s the worst part. They won’t blame him, and neither will they blame Draven. They will see it as something inevitable, and horrible, and very sad indeed. They will pity him and all the men and women like him. And the next time they meet, if they ever meet again, they will hold themselves apart from him, and they will look at him with such carefully practiced calm. Such carefully hidden disgust.

_Murderer. Killer. Torturer._ All true. But if they can help save these people, then it will be worth it.

The message is gone. He doesn’t have to fear them finding out anymore. They may as well know already.

* * *

Later, out in the main hold, Jyn sees the slump of Cassian’s shoulders as he eases into a spot on the couch, their now-standard several-feet apart. She sees the way he accepts the caf Bodhi hands him with an unenthusiastic, grim smile. She sees the tired tilt of his eyes, and she mutters, “fuck it” to herself and promptly slides over.

Cassian startles a little as her arm hooks around his neck, one knee tucked up and to the side, laying over his thigh. She pretends not to notice that he’s spilled a little of his caf. She presses up against him with the kind of casual ease she’s seen Baze and Chirrut display hundreds of times. Not with any sort of intention or promise, just the familiar comfort of coming home.

It doesn’t even feel as unnatural as she would have thought. She feels a bit of fear of it, a bit of uncertainty. But it’s nothing compared to the desire to lend him comfort.

“Okay?” she asks him, meaning all of it. Meaning his message to Leia, meaning the exposure it means for him, meaning the fact that the door he had left open a crack has now been firmly slammed closed. Meaning, too, the closeness. The openness.

“Okay,” he answers, and he makes certain she knows he means for all of it by curling his hand around her leg, fingers brushing over her pants, mouth lifting at the corner. Incredulous, disbelieving. Happy. This is what she wanted.

“Well,” Chirrut says, and even _that_ doesn’t seem as annoying as it usually does. “Look who finally decided to stop pretending what we all knew was true anyway.”

“You said it would take them a year,” Baze reminds him, smug. “I was closer.”

“Um, you said six months,” Bodhi says. “That’s not much better.”

“It’s _twice_ as good!” Baze says, swatting at the back of Bodhi’s head like a displeased parent, as Bodhi ducks out of the way and chuckles, barely containing his own caf. “And it’s Chirrut! He’s always right about everything. That makes this victory all the sweeter.”

“I _am_ often correct. Including about things as trivial as when you need a win against me,” Chirrut says sagely, earning an incredulous glare from his partner.

“No, no. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to take this from me.”

“This is why we wanted to keep it quiet,” Jyn reminds them all, half snarling, though her fingers brush through the hair at Cassian’s temple, and she feels a thrill of excitement at getting to do it so openly. Cassian does too, judging from the way the back of his neck is flushing red and he can’t even sip his caf for the smile on his face.

“Does this mean you won the bet, Bodhi?” Cassian asks, talking over the continued bickering of Baze and Chirrut (Chirrut steadfastly smug and serene, Baze increasingly furious).

“No. I won.”

Cassian actually spits out the caf in his mouth this time, nearly drenching Bodhi, who practically leaps backward off his chair to escape it. K-2SO sighs, standing hunched over in the doorway to the cockpit, and regards his friend with plain annoyance.

“K!” Jyn exclaims, laughing with equal parts surprise and delight. “You knew?”

“Well of course I knew. Don’t be ridiculous. Have you not noticed how polite I have been to you? I have been making an effort.”

If Jyn was drinking caf, that’s about the part where _she_ would have spit it out.


	4. Come to Bed, Cassian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone still reading this!
> 
> There was a point at which I thought for sure this was going to be my first real attempt at a full on sex scene, but...here we are!

Jyn doesn’t ask Cassian to tell her about the message he sent to Leia. She doesn’t ask him how he’s feeling about it. She doesn’t need the details, and she’s pretty sure she _knows_ how he’s feeling. But all evening, as they talk with the others and let their spirits lighten and get ready for bed, she wonders. When he says he’ll be in in a bit, disappears back out into the main hold, she worries. She just needs to know that he’s okay.

She’s good at forgetting the look on Chirrut’s face after Kazadu. The utter certainty in his expression when he told Jyn of the hopelessness he had sensed in Cassian.

_When I looked at him across the battlefield_ , Chirrut had said, his voice quiet and urgent in a way that had become unfamiliar after months of experiencing how much the guardian liked to laugh. _I saw a shadow of a man. The Force has always moved around Captain Andor in a way that traps him. He was free, in that moment. But it was a freedom that left him untethered, until I could hardly sense him at all. It was as if he was already halfway to becoming one with the Force._

Jyn isn’t in the habit of questioning Chirrut’s judgements of the characters of others. It would be foolish to, considering how often he has been able to reach into her, reach past every defense to see what’s at the heart of her. So when he said those things about Cassian, when he said them with the urgency with which he did, as Cassian was lying unconscious in her room on Kazadu, Jyn absorbed them.

She’s good at forgetting, in part because Cassian is so good at _making_ her forget. And since Kazadu, things have been different for the both of them. But after the other night, Cassian pacing, desperate, in his quarters, Jyn thinks of Chirrut’s fear, and she feels a need to make sure. A need to tether Cassian again, to touch him and ground him to her, to this ship. Cassian is one of the most dedicated people she’s ever known. The thought of him despairing over a lack of purpose sits heavy in her chest. Especially if he’s doing it _alone._

The others are all in their own rooms, likely already asleep, but Cassian remains in the main hold, reading through some information on his datapad. She doesn’t think they’ve received anything new from Kev, or from the Kophan Resistance, or from Leia. So it’s likely just old information. Cassian finding reasons to keep busy. Re-reading the dossier on Kopha, maybe. Cataloging any information on the off chance that it might be useful.

She leaves the shadows of the hallway, and she allows him to hear her approach, not wanting to startle him. He looks up to say something, but his words die before reaching his lips as he sees that she’s wearing his shirt again. Wearing _only_ his shirt again.

“Oh,” he says, blinking once, twice. Pointed, centering blinks, like he thinks he might be dreaming and this is the only way to check to see if he’s awake. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was.”

“Any word from the Kophan forces?” she asks, even though she knows the answer; he would have come to her with an update if there was anything.

“No. I can’t imagine what’s taking them so long.”

“You of all people should understand the desire to be cautious,” Jyn points out. She leans against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, waiting, watching him. He’s looking at her like he has a hundred things to say but can’t choose the one to start with. “It’s the middle of the night here. They aren’t going to respond today. Leia likely won’t either.”

“I know that,” he admits, scrubbing his hand over his face. He has this way of grimacing sometimes when he’s tired, in a way that shows the lines around his mouth and eyes, and it always makes her think of their fight after Eadu. It isn’t just the physical pain that Cassian is good at keeping hidden. It’s the exhaustion. The years of fighting catching up to him, driving him slowly into the ground.

Feeling vulnerable in the long shirt and no sleep pants, Jyn crosses the room and crouches down in front of him, her smile sad and understanding. Cassian puts the datapad aside and reaches for her, reaches for the comfort she’s promising with the open expression she wears. He looks at her like he needs to make certain she’s real, cupping her face with both hands. His gentleness in moments like this is always so surprising. His fingers trail over her skin, tucking her hair behind her ears before he kisses her, and his touch is feather-light. He is a man who has killed, who has worn a hundred different lives, has lied and fought, and yet he so delicately strokes his thumbs on either side of her jaw when he pulls back from the kiss to look at her.

If his kiss is gentle, his gaze is _soft_. It’s careful. It’s filled with so much restraint that it makes her want to tug on his hair or bite his lower lip between her teeth, but she doesn’t. She breathes, instead, keeps her hands steady, gripping his arms as she holds his gaze. He’s not the only one keeping himself in check.

“Come to bed, Cassian,” she says. Her voice trembles when she says it. She isn’t entirely sure why.

Cassian hesitates, but he swallows whatever he had been about to say, and he nods.

* * *

It’s something about the weariness in his face, something about the deep lines of uncertainty and the fact that she knows he’s suffering. It’s something in the way he kissed her, like she’s the sole reason he has any hope left at all. Perhaps those are strange reasons, but they’re hers.

It’s all of those things that make her want to help him in any way she can.

He sheds his shirt, reaches for his drawer, rummaging for his sleep pants in the dim light, but she wraps her fingers around his wrist, pushing into the space between him and the wall, and she stops him.

His brow furrows in confusion, and she kisses him again so he’ll get it.

He does.

He deepens the kiss, but it doesn’t last. He pulls back, and he looks at her, and he searches her expression. She nods, and this time it’s him who closes the gap.

The walk backwards to the bunk is as much a dance as any of the rest of this, and Jyn feels light, pushed up on her toes to be closer to him, to keep kissing him, picking her way backwards as easily as if they’ve done this before. She keeps one arm looped around his neck, fingers in his hair, tugging him along with her. There’s a part of her that’s afraid he’ll stay rooted where he is if she doesn’t pull him physically forward, a part of her that thinks he’ll see how terrified she is and will not understand it, will think it’s much more damning than it is.

But her palm slides down to his chest, her other hand still buried in his hair, and beneath the scarring and bruising and the always surprising softness of his skin, she can feel his heart pounding a frenetic beat that matches her own.

They are alike in this, too. She’s never asked him about it. That would mean reciprocating, would mean admitting that she hasn’t ever slept with someone she cares about as more than just a distraction, a touchstone, something consistent and _present_ like Kev, close enough to a friend for her purposes. She’s never kissed someone and thought _finally, I’ve been waiting for you_. She’s never looked at someone and thought _forever_. Not like this.

But she knows. He doesn’t have to say it. He doesn’t have to admit that this is a first for him too. She catches him sometimes when they’re ready for sleep. She catches him looking at her, his eyes tracing every part of her face, his blank expression gone, broken, leaving this vulnerable scrutiny instead. Something that aches to tell her everything but doesn’t quite know what words will make it make sense.

Now, he follows her like he always does. He mirrors her movements, keeps up with her. She’s back against the pillows and he’s poised over her, never breaking their kiss for more than a few moments at a time, his mouth sometimes wandering to her throat but not much farther. Needing to stay close. His heart hammers against her hand, and she keeps her palm there as a reminder to herself. She releases his hair and grabs one of his own hands, brings it up to feel her own heartbeat, and he laughs against her mouth, shaky and understanding.

_You’re not alone in this. I’m here_. That’s what her heartbeat says. That’s what it means, and he knows that. He kisses her again, and she finally lets her hand wander, lets it trail down towards his stomach. And his breath hitches, his stomach muscles contract, and now she _does_ give in, lets the impulse take over, and she gently bites into his lower lip, pulls him in.

It’s only when her second hand joins her first, both of them reaching for his belt, her fingers fumbling over each other with mounting certainty, that he pulls away. And Jyn almost wants to laugh at him, almost wants to ask _where did you think this was going_? But she’s too busy sitting up, like she’s trying to follow him as he falls back onto his knees, the tips of his shaking fingers pressed to his mouth.

“Wait,” he manages to say, and it’s strangled, and he doesn’t quite look at her, at first. She doesn’t move except for the heaving breaths she sucks in, her chest rising and falling with the need to say something, catching on the actual words themselves. When he does look at her, she realizes she doesn’t need words.

For a man who hates himself as much as Cassian does, for a man who cares for her as much as Cassian does, this must feel like a sacrilege.

“Cassian,” she whispers, and she tucks her own feet beneath her, so they’re both facing each other, both kneeling on opposite ends of the bunk, both trembling with the same mixture of emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks away again. “I’m sorry, I just…”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he doesn’t know how to explain. When words frustrate him, elude him.

“Cassian,” she says again, and she inches closer, her lips fumbling around the words she wants to say. She has this hysterical, certainly untrue feeling that if he goes any farther, if he gets off this bunk and leaves this room, it will be for good.

It’s silly, it’s ridiculous. They’re not going backwards. She won’t let them. But she doesn’t want to be stuck in this place forever, this space existing between them when she knows they both want to be so much closer than they are. And her fear has made her absurd, has made her think _if he leaves now, it will be forever._

“I just…” he tries again, but the frustration is building inside him, and she can feel the words he wants to say.

_I don’t deserve this. You deserve someone else. I don’t deserve to be happy._

She slides a little closer, her own fear making her want to be closer to him, want to be more tactile and gentle than his distance allows. She can see the block inside him, keeping the words from being spoken aloud. Maybe he knows how absurd she will think them, or maybe it’s simply that he doesn’t know how to express the feeling so that she’ll understand. Which in itself is absurd, of course: she already does.

Finally, he says, “it’s bad enough that I’m allowed to- to...all of it. Sleep here, touch you. Have you near. But this is…after everything that’s happened, how can you just…”

And the words are spoken, are in the air between them, tainting this place where she’s supposed to be safe. She almost resents him for it. Instead, she reciprocates. He isn’t the only one carrying around wounds that are usually so carefully hidden. And this is the one thing left. The one thing left that she’s been wanting to tell him but has never quite known how.

“Do you know what one of my first memories is?” she asks, her voice steady. He looks up from the bed, eyes on her, narrow confusion displayed in them. He’s looking at her like he did after Jedha, on the flight to Eadu, like there are things he wants to tell her, things that are important, but he _can’t_.

“No,” he answers, because of course he doesn’t. For all that it sometimes feels like they know everything about each other, their pasts have been revealed so much more slowly than their present selves. She knows how his father died, but not his mother. He knows that she lived on Coruscant, but not how they escaped. He knows nothing of her father but for what his intelligence reports told him and what Galen looked like through the scope of his rifle. She knows that his childhood was spent on a cold planet, and that the thought of a small Cassian bundled up against the cold makes her unspeakably sad in a way she doesn’t know how to quantify, but nothing about how he spent his time there. Nothing about the people he loved.

“One of my first real memories is hiding in the grass when the man in white ordered his troopers to kill my mother. Was that in my file? The one you had on me before you met me?”

“No,” Cassian says gently. He seems calmed by this turn in conversation. Intrigued, maybe. Allowing his fears and frustrations to be set aside for now. So she keeps talking.

“He didn’t kill her. Didn’t pull the trigger, but he ordered it. He may as well have done it himself. And he took my father. The next time I saw him was on Eadu.” Cassian makes a small noise of understanding, maybe sensing where she’s going with this, but he doesn’t interrupt. “My mother almost killed him, on Lah’mu. She aimed to, anyway. That’s why she left me. She thought…well. I don’t know _what_ she thought would happen. A single pistol against so many troopers. But the shot only took him in the shoulder. Maybe, if she had succeeded, this would be different. No Death Star, probably. We might not ever have met, but- but he lived. And on Eadu, it was the same. He didn’t kill my father. Draven did that job for him, but again he was _there_. He may as well have been the one to drop the bombs, because it was all because of him. My father being there, _me_ being there. It was _him_ that did it. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Cassian says. He’s looking at her like he wishes he didn’t understand quite so well. She skims past the sad reflection in his eyes, because that will hardly help this moment, reminding him of what he almost did to her.

“And then he was on Scarif. And this time, it was _you_ he took from me.”

He doesn’t look away from her eyes, doesn’t give in to the impulse he is no doubt feeling to turn his head, to change the subject. He’s still looking at her like she burns too brightly, like it hurts him to look, but he keeps his gaze steady anyway.

“But I came back,” he says, maybe remembering that moment in the medbay on Yavin, when he first woke up. When the only words she could think to say were _you came back_. A preemptive explanation for almost everything that came after it.

“You came back,” she says. “And you _killed_ him.” Her voice catches on it, on _killed_ , on the weight of that word and what it means to her beyond the emotionless, stale truth of it. Cassian killed the man in white, but there is so much more to it than that, and the sobbing way she breathes the word is involuntary. “I used to wake from nightmares in which he would find me. I feared that he would kill me the way he killed my mother, or perhaps use me against my father. You stopped it. You made sure he would never haunt me again. Don’t look at me like you’ve never done anything for me. Like you don’t deserve this as much as I do. We’ve been through too much now for you to think I’d really go anywhere. You should already know how I feel. But maybe you don’t. Sometimes it feels like…it feels like I’ve been waiting for you. For so long. I hate the way you look at me sometimes, when you’re thinking you don’t…when you’re thinking I’m too much for you. Because I’m not. I’m exactly where I should be, and I’ve chosen you. You _are_ so much more than you’re willing to think, Cassian. I know you, remember. I know what you’ve done. And I know who you are. And those are two such _different_ things.” Finally, she sees a spark of something in his gaze. Recognition, maybe. Understanding. She leans in closer, because she knows he won’t leave. She crawls forward, grips his hands with hers. “I’m not going anywhere, Cassian. If you didn’t want to, it would be different. If I thought I’d read it wrong. But I haven’t, have I?”

“No,” Cassian admits, his voice creaky, as if he hasn’t spoken in months. He sounds like he did on the Afflictor. Helpless, starting to feel hope again after a week of feeling like it couldn’t possibly end any way but with him dead. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just…”

He squeezes her hands in his, but Jyn knows. Jyn understands that the dark vice on his heart could not allow him to touch her, kiss her, hear her small gasp of pleasure without forcing him to remember that his hands had ended lives like hers before.

“It’s all right,” she whispers, and she arches herself closer, brings her arms up around his neck. She nudges one knee between both of his, making the already shallow gap between them even shallower, so they’re kneeling together, chest to chest, embracing. “I’m here. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

He opens his mouth as if to speak, gazing up at her, now slightly raised above him on her knees. But in the end, the words still fail him. He moves instead, one hand cupping her chin before he kisses her. There is still a hesitation. She can feel it. But he overcomes it fully, his other sliding down her side, to the hem of her shirt.

She always imagined this part being slower, more tentative, but this is better. When she reaches for his belt this time, he doesn’t pull away. He pulls her shirt off over her head, breaking the kiss only when he needs to, and she pushes him to his back. She thinks he might be annoyed that they’re facing the wrong way, his legs getting tangled up in the pillows at the head of the bunk, but he says nothing when she straddles his hips and sears into him with a kiss again. He grabs at her thighs when she pulls away, when she straightens, when she goes to lift her undershirt over her head. In the dim light, she can see the shadows playing over his face and the hunger that glints in his eyes, and she pauses, fingertips curled under the fabric, against her skin. She settles back, breathing heavily. In a few moments, she will remove her undershirt. She will lift herself off of his hips just enough so that they can work together, clumsy with desire, to remove his pants. He’ll probably flip her to her back, then. He’ll touch her, his fingers and mouth drawing curses from her lips. She’ll feel him smile against her to hear the sounds she makes.

But her fingers stay under her shirt for a few more moments, because she needs to savor this. And she needs to say it.

“Have you ever loved someone before?” she asks, and her voice is so, so very small. She hates the way it makes her sound, hates the neediness that seems to come from it, because that wasn’t what she wanted at all. She wanted him to _know_. She wanted to tell him.

But before she can continue, before she can fix it, Cassian breathes out, “not until you.”

And it’s perfect, and he’s perfect, and she lifts her undershirt off, feels his hands move from her hips to her ribs, ghosting up along her sides, _worshipping_ her in a way she’s never felt before. This time when she bends down to kiss him, lifting off him just enough so they can work together to get him that much closer to undressed, she can tell that leaving, that denying himself this pleasure, that trying to convince her that she deserves better than this, she can tell that it’s the absolute _last_ thing on his mind.

* * *

“They’ve sent word,” Bodhi says.

“You don’t seem very happy about it.”

Cassian’s words are amused, his mouth quirking up at the corners. Bodhi plainly does not share his mirth – and isn’t _that_ something, to be able to describe Cassian unironically as _mirthful_. Jyn hides her own smile behind her datapad, feigning disinterest.

“Well, of course I’m not. I was hoping they’d tell us to leave off and we’d go back to doing anything else,” Bodhi mutters.

“Seriously, _what_ is your problem with Kopha?” Jyn asks. “We’ve been in way worse spots than we were when we came here last time.”

“You stole a suicide pill and ran off to go find _him_ , because he was _also_ carrying a suicide pill. Not much worse than that.”

Cassian points out, “I was almost crushed to death by a Stormtrooper’s boot. On a tank. Not all that long ago.”

“ _And_ he was tortured on a Star Destroyer,” K-2SO adds, which has Bodhi flinching. Jyn too, though her flinching is mostly internal. Still, she takes a sip of caf and considers Cassian carefully.

“Maybe the problem is with you,” she says to hide her discomfort. She forces a cheeky grin to her face. “Maybe you can sit this one out with Bodhi. Make him feel better.”

“Yeah, no, and then _you_ go off and get yourself captured,” Bodhi mutters, glaring at her.

“I was never captured! You just _thought_ I was captured! The resistance treated me quite well.”

“Also, I am here now,” K-2SO reminds them all, as if they could forget. “I like Kopha.”

“See?” Jyn says. “Kopha’s great!”

“Will somebody please just tell me what word they sent?” Cassian asks, but he _still_ sounds good-natured, and Jyn is sure that it’s got to be like some giant, lit-up sign over his head, an arrow pointing directly to Jyn herself, a flashing indicator that yes, they fucked, and yes, his good mood is entirely her doing.

Not that she minds the credit, but still. Chirrut is already insufferable, and this is going to make it so much worse.

“They’re ready to talk,” Bodhi says. “Just the two of you again. Probably can expect the bag over the head treatment, too. They didn’t sound all that welcoming, but I think they want to accept the help. They’d just tell us to leave, otherwise.”

“You can’t expect them to be happy about this,” Cassian says. “Jyn?”

“Ready when you are,” Jyn confirms.

* * *

Baze and Chirrut meet them at the cargo bay doors, Bodhi hanging behind, looking jittery, his fingers clutching the kyber crystal tight – Jyn thought it might soothe his nerves to have it back around his neck, and it seems to have done the trick at least a little bit: he seems slightly more focused.

Even stranger than Cassian’s earlier mirth: it’s as if he has stolen Chirrut’s good mood. The guardian is positively glowering in the direction of the treeline.

“What is it?” Jyn asks, her voice pitched low. Thinking, of course, that Chirrut must sense something to look so sour. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, plenty is wrong,” Chirrut sighs. “They’re distrustful, nervous. I don’t like that the two of you will be out there. It only takes one itchy trigger finger to end everything.”

“He’s feeling pessimistic today,” Baze says, shaking his head. “You two will be fine. Don’t listen to him.”

“Not pessimistic. _Tired_.” He levels a sightless glare between Jyn and Cassian. Cassian is the first to understand: Jyn notices the intense flush that creeps up his tan skin, his expression gone blank again, and _that_ sets off the alarm bells in her brain. Of course, _her_ first inclination is to laugh. Loudly.

“Tired?” Bodhi asks, trying to glean the significance of the words and the look and Jyn’s uncharacteristically open laughter, but it doesn’t take long. He gapes at them both, and that’s even _funnier_ , and Baze chuckles along with Jyn this time. Cassian looks like he’d rather be back on that tank.

“We are switching rooms with Bodhi,” Chirrut says, continuing in the same grave, imperious tone, as if he isn’t being laughed at by anybody at all. “His hearing is not as good as mine.”

“Oh, come on. I don’t…I don’t want to think about that,” Bodhi mutters, turning on his heel and stalking back to the front of the ship. He pauses only long enough to shout back, “but please don’t die out there!” before sequestering himself in the cockpit with K-2SO.

“Seriously, though, Chirrut. Any insight you could give us,” Jyn says, voice carefully level. Baze looks like he’s about to burst. Cassian too, but his is more from shame than amusement.

“Insight,” Chirrut scoffs.

“It’ll rain, later,” Baze offers. Jyn nearly loses it again, but instead makes a murmured noise of thanks. Cassian sighs, exasperation rising.

“Don’t tell me _you_ have vague premonition abilities too,” he says, and it may be the closest thing to a whine Jyn has ever heard from him.

“No. Bad knees,” Baze replies. Cassian flushes even deeper and stalks off down the cargo ramp without a goodbye.

“Let’s go, Jyn,” he calls back over his shoulder, snappish and embarrassed. Jyn, by contrast, is nearly giddy.

Which really should tip her off that this mission is going to go sideways. After all, her optimism has never had a very good sense of foresight.


	5. Hang On, Jyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've heard of "write drunk, edit sober". Now get ready for "oops I wrote this sober and am now editing it drunk at 2 am". Which might explain why this is 8,000 words long, holy shit. 
> 
> I am, however, pleased to say that I can finally confirm for sure an end point for this series, which will be after an interlude, a final (hopefully short? But this was supposed to be a short mission and is currently the longest word count of them all, so. who knows) mission, and a final interlude, which will probably be called "Finale: (Whatever the Title Is)" unless I can come up with something better. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, to everyone still reading and taking the time to comment. Singlehandedly dragging me out of my writing rut, one comment at a time!
> 
> (no but seriously, I have a desperate need for validation, so thank you for indulging me!)

Despite Bodhi’s warning about the unwelcoming feeling of the conversation he had with the Kophan Resistance, the mood is much improved inside the headquarters. There’s a certain tension to it, yes, but it’s a tension of forward momentum, of waiting for something to start. Jyn knows without having to be told that they’re going to be undertaking something important today. The only question is whether Rogue One will be allowed to go with them.

They _do_ have the bags put back over their heads, but their hands aren’t bound. They’re relieved of their weapons, but they aren’t forced to kneel. Jyn takes note of these things, and she knows that Cassian is doing the same.

When they have their hoods removed, they’re in the large meeting room from yesterday. There are no blasters out and pointed at them, no scowling faces. And Kir is there, standing close to She’bara at the front of the room, smiling her good-natured, kind smile in Jyn’s direction. Overall, there are fewer people. Fewer guards.

She looks at Cassian, and he nods, agreeing with her unspoken assessment. One corner of his mouth ticks upward slightly, something that is maybe supposed to be a comforting smile. Not that she needs it, but it’s appreciated anyway.

Kir steps forward first, reaching to hug Jyn, a surprise despite Kir’s general kindness and the good terms they left on last time.

“I’m so sorry about this,” she says, a stage whisper, loud enough for the others to hear. “It was She’bara who insisted. You know how she is. So kriffing _dramatic._ ”

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” She’bara says, but she’s smiling. Aja is as well, tolerant and amused and again feeling so much like Mon Mothma that Jyn could scream. When she chances a sideways look at Cassian again, his eyes dart to Aja and then back to Jyn, and she knows that he thinks she should take the lead. Her arms are still up around Kir, the younger woman obviously trusting and happy to see Jyn, so she has to agree.

“You’ve decided, I assume,” she says over Kir’s shoulder to Aja before gently pulling herself out of the embrace.

“There’s a small spaceport town near here,” Aja says. “Kirk. Fairly important to the Imperial presence here, on account of all the ships, but it would mean so much more to _us._ We don’t have the manpower to enact a full coup yet, but we hope that gaining a strategic outpost like this one would allow us to prove ourselves. Drum up support from those who don’t want to risk leaving the comparative safety of Imperial rule quite yet. Perhaps get word to the Alliance that we have a _chance_ , that we’re a fight worth supporting. And having a spaceport, being able to use the ships, obviously that would be an enormous boon to suppliers, to people who want to help. We’ve received word from a source in the town that the Imperial occupation in Kirk is at a low point. They’re shifting their attentions towards Dawara and Kaph, our larger cities. We’ve decided to take advantage of this situation, whether the Alliance is here to support us or not. We want to take the spaceport now, today. If you want to help, that’s what we need from you.”

“Absolutely,” Cassian says, not needing to look at Jyn to know what her answer will be. “We will be wherever you need us.”

* * *

Things move quickly, then, as they often do. Cassian is taken with Aja to look over the maps of the area, to see and judge and advise them on their current plan of action. Jyn is taken by Kir and She’bara to see the rest of the troops so she can get an idea of how many there are.

It’s not many, but she sees more fire, more determination than she did on Kazadu when she first landed. Before she helped to convince them, the miners were reluctant to push things. They were afraid to make things worse. They were living on fragile asteroids at the mercy of the Empire, and even though their families were near starving and terrified, at least they were alive. Things were bad, but the Empire presented such an existential, omnipresent threat. _Things could always be worse,_ they said, turning away from any decisive action. _They still have power over us._

Here, the people who have volunteered don’t have anything to lose. It isn’t a hypothetical danger anymore, the way it was when Jyn and Cassian first came to Kopha, when they were separated in Dawara. The Empire has cracked down on the Resistance cells, has pushed back against any signs of rebellion, and that has made martyrs of family members, of friends. The Imperials have pushed people to stand up and fight back while they still can.

There are so few of them, but they’re strong. Jyn feels the fire in her heart flaring up again. It’s like standing in the makeshift war room on Kazadu, looking around at the people brave enough to convince the others to fight back. It’s like standing in the shuttle on Scarif, facing the troops who chose to follow her no matter the cost. Her smile grows.

“What are you thinking?” Kir asks. She sounds nervous, as if she’s expecting a harsh judgment, or expecting despair, or maybe expecting Jyn to say _nope, fuck this_ and walk out, taking her team with her.

Instead, Jyn says, “my captain said something to me once. _Rebellions are built on hope_. That’s what you have here.”

Kir’s smile lights up her face, bleeding away some of the tension, and Jyn recognizes a little of herself in that moment. Learning to hope. Learning to _have_ hope.

* * *

There are a hundred things to do, but they’re handled with a competency that Jyn hadn’t dared to expect. Cassian is no surprise, but Bodhi fits in well with the other pilots, helps them tune up the few landspeeders they have, gives them advice that he doesn’t seem entirely equal to giving. Chirrut and Baze join the infantry, patiently answering questions about their weapons, giving demonstrations to those brave enough to ask for them. Laughter echoes through the caves as another hopeful resistance fighter, certain that they’ve observed Chirrut’s fighting style enough to overcome it, gets sent sprawling.

But it’s the kind of laughter that sours quickly, spikes loud and grating because it’s so obviously false, so manufactured to try and sound like real amusement, when really what it is is an attempt to drive the fear away. Jyn feels it too, the anticipation building inside her, and she almost envies these fighters, because they have an outlet for the frustration. She remembers being younger, fighting with some of the other Partisans, training before big strikes. Things like that could help you keep your head. It was important to keep your head, to be cool and calm in battle, and often the best way to achieve that was by losing it beforehand.

That was what Jyn always thought, anyway. But she’s strangely calm, now. The fear is low inside her, kept hidden and safe, and she knows the benefit of having people look to her, the way they did on Kazadu. That old worry inside her that she isn’t good enough, that she isn’t the person they should be asking, that they’re making a mistake by looking to her for answers, it flares up less and less now. She thinks of Leia, back on Yavin, telling her that she could be so much more, if only she believed herself capable of it.

Becoming a pirate and inspiring miniature Rebellions across the galaxy was probably _not_ what Leia had in mind, but it feels right. It makes her think that maybe Leia wasn’t wrong about her after all.

* * *

Aja stays behind, out of the fight, with most of the technicians, including Kir, but she’s warm and effusive with her thanks, so all comparisons to the majority of the Alliance Council end there. She sends She’bara along with them, and She’bara sticks close to Jyn and Cassian both, with an obvious sort of casual purpose. Jyn again finds herself wondering, uncomfortably, if there’s reason to worry about the Chiss woman’s apparent shift in loyalties.

Aja seems a sharp woman, but even sharp women can be easy to con, if you’re good enough at the game. And even rough-edged loners like She’bara can put on a good front of dedication if it means survival. She’bara is clearly older than Jyn, but Jyn recognizes too much of her younger, more feral self in her. Jyn changed, because circumstances dictated that she change. Of course She’bara could have changed as well.

Maybe. _Maybe_. But Jyn’s uncertainty digs down into her ribcage and hovers there, distrustful.

* * *

They set off, not quite in the front lines, but close enough to it that Jyn feels exposed, vulnerable, feels eyes on her even though she knows they’ve got hours yet to march through these trees and this thick, concealing undergrowth. Cassian sticks close by her side, as is his habit, but the spark of him burns more brightly beside her, with the memory of last night still so fresh.

He affects a casual enough air, but Jyn knows he’s waiting. He makes aimless, uncharacteristic comments about the weather, the fighters, the foliage, before he finally judges that no one is close enough to them to risk being overheard.

“Hey,” he says, bending down a bit to speak quietly, and she knows what he’s going to ask before he does.

“Kir and Aja, yes,” she says. “She’bara? Not quite.”

“Chirrut said you were worried.”

“Did he happen to have an opinion?”

“Something vague about people owning their own destiny.”

“Right.”

“Baze suggested knocking her out and leaving her in the woods, just in case.”

“Also unsurprising. What do _you_ think?”

Cassian sighs and pretends to be admiring some of the local flora so he can make certain that She’bara is still far enough back.

“Depends. To what _level_ is this a problem?”

Interesting question, and she has to admit that she hadn’t given it much thought. She turns over the implication in her mind. Does she think She’bara is merely an opportunist? Someone to watch out for because she might be persuaded to turn on them if things start to go bad? Or could it be even worse than that? Could She’bara be an active traitor, someone leading the struggling Resistance to their doom even more quickly?

“They decided on this course of action quickly, and we don’t know who made the suggestion,” she admits. “It could be a trap.”

“Couldn’t be simple, could it?” Cassian asks, a hint of humor in his tone, though his words are weary, and Jyn feels the weight of them. She gives him a nod that speaks of understanding.

“We need to scout ahead anyway,” she says. “Send a few people into the town to see what’s waiting for us. Might not be a bad time to figure it out. How many have comms?”

“Eleven?” Cassian guesses. “Not sure who they are.”

“Bodhi?”

“And Baze.”

“Okay.”

They look at each other, waiting, both of them obviously working through it on their own. Cassian speaks first, says, “we can set up a private link between the two of us. I can go in with She’bara. Fewer the better. If she _is_ a traitor, the reactions of the Stormtroopers will give it away.”

“She’s the only Chiss on Kopha. If they’ve any clue she’s a Resistance fighter now, she won’t be able to go in there with her face uncovered, so your idea to see their reaction is a wash. She should be there, though, you’re right. So someone can watch her. See how _she_ reacts, what she looks for. But…you think _you’re_ going with her?” Cassian gifts her with a heavy roll of the eyes. “She knows me. She likes me.”

“She might be pretending to like you,” Cassian points out, to which Jyn scoffs.

“I doubt it. She can like me and still think I’m rebel scum.”

“Right,” Cassian says with a pained chuckle, but he quickly grows quiet, more serious. The sound of the small army walking through the wooded undergrowth is loud as she waits for him to decide what he’s going to say, even though she already has half an idea of what it’s going to be. “This is what I do, Jyn. I blend in. I infiltrate. I observe.”

“You take all the risks. You get captured. I have to come rescue you. Yes, I know exactly what you do.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to be expected to wait around, either.”

He sighs. She’s not sure if it’s because he thinks she’s right or because he doesn’t feel like arguing about it.

“Well, fine. What’s your thought?”

“Seriously?” she asks. Frustrated, Cassian glances over at her with his annoyance plain, forgetting that they were trying to be subtle. “I’m not _complaining_. I just don’t trust this sudden willingness to actually listen to me.”

“I listen to you.”

“Sometimes. When it’s not crucial.”

Cassian grins now, rolls his eyes, realizes that she’s teasing him.

“You’re impossible,” he says. “This is serious, and you’re impossible.”

“I missed working together too.”

“Jyn...”

Grinning back at him, Jyn tries to forget the ache of fear, back on Hoth, when she first heard that he had been captured. It was bad enough, then. Bad enough to see him lying limp and dead at the bottom of the tower on Scarif. Bad enough to see him huddled against the wall of his cell on the Afflictor. Every moment spent with him has made those nightmare memories worse. Last night _alone_ has made them worse. The flutter of emotion to think of him, near dying, climbing the databanks to reach her in time has deepened to a roar of hurt. The image of him tortured, screaming, saying nothing but her own name in his sleep, it comes to her at night sometimes and forces her gasping awake, reaching for him.

Last night, it was vague, less defined, was a gulf, a _lack_ of him, a dreamlike knowledge that he was dead and that she was alone again. And it burns.

She understands now why he has been so controlling of them, of all of them. The affection between the six of them grows with every day they spend together, and she feels the same desire to take everything on herself, to protect them however she can, to keep them from having to endure _anything_. She would do whatever she could to make sure that they were safe, and she knows that he feels the same.

And she knows that he feels it stronger for her than he does for any of the others. Just like she does for him.

_Have you ever loved anyone before_? she had asked him, and she saw the answer in his eyes before she’d even finished the sentence. No. No. _Not until you_.

But they need to make this work. This is war. One of them will always be in danger. The best thing they can do is try to be there to help the other out.

“Okay,” she says. “I go in with She’bara. You stay here with the others to await our signal. Ostensibly.”

To her surprise, he doesn’t immediately shoot down the idea.

“And follow unseen when I have a chance,” he says.

“You’re better at infiltration, and you’re better at keeping hidden.”

“Right.” He’s nodding, doing that distant look he does when he’s working through a plan. “Okay. I’ll tell the others to be ready for my signal. K2 won’t be happy.”

“He’ll say ‘better her than you, Cassian’, and you know it,” Jyn says, and Cassian doesn’t bother to hide his smile as he starts to move away.

“Please never try to impersonate him again. It will ruin this whole thing for me. You’d better let She’bara know.”

They separate, and Jyn feels the thrill of a plan going into motion.

* * *

The spaceport town of Kirk is busy, and bigger than Jyn expected. She and She’bara are able to slip in with travelers, most of them loud and halfway to drunk already, excited to barter their way onto a transport. It’s easy to become two of them, to join them, to exist unnoticed among them. She’bara is a natural infiltrator. That’s good for the mission, obviously, but it does nothing to dispel Jyn’s uneasiness.

She’bara’s comfort with playing the role, her lack of difficulty in lying to the Stormtrooper who stops them to inquire as to their business, it certainly makes it easier to believe that she could betray either side, if she wanted. But Jyn is nervous as it is, so it isn’t surprising. Doesn’t make her any more or less suspicious.

Knowing that Cassian is with them, watching them somewhere, Jyn feels better. Cassian is observant, is careful. He will be like a constant second opinion in her ear.

That’s not always a welcome thing, but she can’t fault his instincts this time. She just hopes he doesn’t forget to watch his own back, too busy watching hers.

“I see two guardposts at every entry point,” Jyn says, conversational, fingers pressed against the comlink buried within her scarf so Cassian can also hear her, though it’s She’bara she addresses the conversation to. She’bara doesn’t bother looking, just hums agreement while thumbing through some cloth laid out on a stall. She purchases some, giving Jyn time to look around as if she’s impatient to get going. “Moderate presence,” Jyn continues. She decides that might be an understatement. “Moderate to large.”

“Fantastic,” Cassian replies, voice crackling but comforting in her ear. “I see four entry roads. All guarded. Everything is walled off. Not much Imperial presence that I can see in the middle. They know what they have here and they’re intent on protecting it from outside threats. It certainly _looks_ like someone expects us.”

_Not_ the news Jyn was hoping to hear.

She’bara is ready now, her arms folded around a length of cloth she’ll never use. It _does_ make them look a bit less suspicious, so Jyn doesn’t fault her for it, though her mind runs through some outlandish suspicions. What if the cloth is a warning to her imperial friends? Some sort of spy signal?

“Careful, now,” Cassian says in her ear, and she knows that he has thought of the same thing.

Of course he has. It’s Cassian.

Jyn and She’bara carve a seemingly meandering path through the town, Jyn keeping a constant examination of the people around them, taking note of the Imperials, taking note of how many people seem unbothered by them versus the people who seem skittish. Taking note, too of the people who are determined not to look up.

“So. I suppose this is where I have to make some kind of observation about you and your captain,” She’bara drawls, breaking their companionable silence.

“Do you?” Jyn asks, wrinkling her nose, doing a quick count of a small group of troopers wandering through the market. She only turns back to She’bara because she knows it’ll look less suspicious. She keeps her finger off the comlink, because Cassian _definitely_ doesn’t need to hear any of this part. “I didn’t think we were _there_ yet, you and I. As friends.”

“Mm. Well. Aja tells me I should be more social. Says it’s not normal to have no one to talk to.”

Jyn scoffs, good natured, and they pass the troopers without being searched. _Six of them_ , she notes _._

“That’s ridiculous,” she says. “I went years without having anyone to talk to. You never found _me_ complaining about it.”

Sometimes crying silently when no one was around to hear her, sure, but _that_ Jyn is far enough removed at this point that it feels like something that happened to someone else.

“That’s precisely what I told her. My work was enough for me for so many years. It isn’t _my_ fault the galaxy changed around me. Necessitated my joining a political institution.”

“Exactly,” Jyn says with a quiet chuckle.

“You were the same?”

“I was.”

“I’m not surprised. When we first met, you seemed so certain that you understood it better than I did. Made it seem to me that you had been through what I was going through and had made it to the other side.”

“That’s how it felt.”

“Frustrating?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. I could see the same frustration in Aja when we first began talking politics. I’ve known her for years. She was a loyal customer. Politicians _do_ love their protocol droids. But when things became too charged for her to keep quiet about her opinions, I quickly became well versed in them. Some people just draw you into their orbit, and they aren’t satisfied until you’re spinning with them.”

“Well that sounds familiar,” Jyn mutters, meant to be commiserating. Not meant to be nearly as fond as she instead sounds.

“Are we back to talking about the captain, then?” She’bara asks.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jyn says. The subsequent laugh is somewhat involuntary. Somewhat played up for the benefit of anyone watching. Somewhat intended to stall She’bara.

She’bara could, of course, just want to be friendly. She seems to have Jyn’s halting uncertainty when it comes to conversations meant to pass the time and not meant for any particular objective. And Jyn really _does_ want to trust her. She wants to believe in her. She wants to think that her short time spent with She’bara could have swayed her, even a bit, towards choosing a side the way Jyn had. Not just because she wants to feel the pride of having accidentally recruited someone, but because it would make this so much easier.

But the digging. The look She’bara is giving her. It could also be a trap. Jyn trusts so much more easily now than she used to, but she doesn’t trust _that_ easily.

_How much do you care for your captain?_ She’bara’s curiosity might be innocent enough. But the meaning might be _how much would you do for him?_ Might be _how much would you sacrifice to keep him safe_?

Jyn doesn’t know the answer. She doesn’t _want_ to know the answer. She certainly doesn’t want to give a potential Imperial spy the leverage to judge for herself just how much Jyn would do for Cassian.

“Nothing to talk about,” She’bara says, smirking. Not believing. But it’s strangely easy for Jyn to fall back into the casual disdain of Tanith. The cold detachment of Liana. She isn’t worried.

“Well not _nothing_. A mutually beneficial arrangement, let’s call it. No need for emotion to come into it. Mostly just…pent up frustration.” Laughable, really, considering her rosy memories of last night’s extremely tender first time, but she sells it easily enough, giving her eyes a bit of an exaggerated roll to go with her smile. Sated, amused. _Detached_. That’s the important part. “You and Aja?”

“We seem to have swapped positions on a lot of things,” She’bara says. Red eyes narrow on Jyn, wondering. Judging. Jyn might be holding her breath. She tries to look unconcerned, keeping her head moving, taking in everything. Looking entirely focused on the mission at hand and not at all worried about what She’bara might see behind her eyes if she looks at her too closely. “Would have taken you for the softhearted type last time you were here, talking about the captain the way you did to his droid. Something in the way you said his name.”

“Softhearted? Towards _Cassian_? Clearly, you haven’t spoken to him enough. He’s not the type to inspire softness.” Again, utterly laughable, considering _soft_ is the only word she can think of when she remembers waking up this morning and seeing his face looking ten years younger in sleep beside her. “You were probably hearing exhaustion. Not to mention that aforementioned frustration. It had been a while since I’d had even the _slightest_ action.”

“Right,” She’bara says. For a moment, Jyn thinks she must be skeptical, but that isn’t quite right. No, She’bara seems disappointed. Easy enough to understand why. After all, she reached out hoping for a Rebellion representative with an abandonment complex and a strong tie to her leadership. This cynical emotional loner must be a surprising change. “I’d have sympathized when I met you last. But now? Firmly attached. A bit more idealistic. Aja changed a lot of things for me. That happens when you have someone who just won’t let you go. Won’t let you slide back into the person you used to be. You got it started, though. Credit where it’s due.”

“I’m happy for you,” Jyn says. She can at least be sincere about that. “Aja seems like a good leader. Like a good person to follow.”

“She believes so strongly in the cause that sometimes I fear it’ll burn every bit of love she has. Leave nothing for me. But each day that goes by, we’re still here, and she still…well. No need to get sentimental about it. But it’s…nice. Nice to find out that someone can have such an endless capacity for love, especially when _you_ are the target. Easy to fear, but harder to look away. I wouldn’t love her half so much if she wasn’t so dedicated.”

It’s like talking to Chirrut, the sudden punch of agreement and annoyance mixing together, because there was a time when no one knew Jyn Erso even half so well, and suddenly it’s like someone’s looking into the heart of her.

“That must be difficult,” she says, knowing full well that it is.

“Mm. But worth it.”

Jyn smiles a little, head inclining in She’bara’s direction.

“I imagine it would be.”

“Tell me, Jyn…”

But Jyn doesn’t hear her next bit, because Cassian’s voice crackles through the comlink in her ear.

“Jyn, twenty troopers just came out of a building in the center. They’re headed your way. If she was going to set a trap…”

He doesn’t need to finish. If She’bara was going to set a trap, this would be the place to do it. Seemingly cut off from any rescue. Seemingly surrounded. Deep in the spaceport, near the ships, away from the exits.

She’bara is looking at Jyn expectantly, waiting to hear the answer to a question Jyn did not hear. Jyn swallows. Thinks. _Tries_ to think.

“She’bara,” she says finally. “There are troopers one block over.”

She’bara looks, tensing, in the direction Jyn is indicating. Glimpses of the troopers through the crowd, down the narrow alleyway between two buildings, answer any questions she might have about how Jyn knew that. Jyn watches her reaction: the startled jolt, the panicked flash of concern.

She doesn’t think She’bara is performing. If it’s a trap, it’s not one that she knew was set to spring. At least…Jyn’s _pretty_ sure that’s the case.

There’s doubt enough to keep her from saying anything further. But there’s certainty enough that she knows she can’t just _leave_ She’bara here.

“Jyn.” Cassian is warning in her ear, his voice close and loud, breath catching as he does what he can to keep eyes one everything. On the rooftops, most likely, knowing him. “To the left. There’s a street away from them. But you have to hurry.”

“Come on,” Jyn says, making up her mind. Choosing _trust_. “There’s a way out, this way.”

They go, together. She’bara following, darting after Jyn with ease, her long legs giving her the advantage she needs to keep up with Jyn’s speed and weaving ability to duck through the crowd. Jyn doesn’t bother hiding the press of her comlink this time.

“Cassian?” she asks.

“They’re still moving toward you. They seem to know what they’re looking for.”

Jyn glances back at She’bara, a snarl forming on her lips as she looks for signs that the Chiss woman is responsible. But She’bara is keeping up with her, isn’t trying to hinder her, isn’t trying to alert the troopers to their location. She’s even dropped the suspicious cloth, leaving it somewhere behind. Another signal? Or did she just leave it for convenience? Jyn spots the gleam of white helmets over the crowd down the street in front of her, and she ducks into an alley, narrow and claustrophobic. She’bara, without being told, keeps her eyes in back of them. Watching their backs.

It’s a courtyard. A dead end. Entrances to dwellings on either side of the alley, but nothing within the small square of land that opens up beyond it except a few poorly tended plants. Not even a convenient window or two to climb through.

“Wait, stop, I don’t have eyes on you there!” Cassian barks. Jyn stops, pivoting to head back into the street, but She’bara is closer than Jyn thought. Standing just behind her.

And She’bara hits Jyn hard in the face, punching her, sending the smaller woman stumbling back.

The surprise is embarrassing. More embarrassing maybe than the lack of awareness that got her here, tripping over someone’s sad attempt at a vegetable garden as she clutches her hand to her nose and tries to keep her footing. She’bara doesn’t give her time to recover, grabs Jyn by the shoulders and drives her knee up, into Jyn’s gut.

Stupid. _Stupid_. Saw’s face is in her mind, grimaced in fury, a ten-years-younger Jyn trying not to cry as she witnesses his disappointment in front of all the other training recruits. Jyn wrenches one shoulder free and lowers it into a battering stance, shoving into She’bara’s chest and pushing herself away from the wall behind her. Her hand fumbles too much on her scarf, the comlink evading her, and she has to duck out of the way of another punch. Luckily, She’bara’s swing is bold, a hook that is easily ducked under. _Too ambitious_ , Saw would have said. _Keep your limbs close to the chest. Jab only_. _Never let yourself be unbalanced by your own momentum._

She’bara, evidently, did _not_ have a fighter like Saw to teach her. The wild punch throws her off balance entirely, and the opening is obvious, is glaring, and Jyn’s response is instinctive. She strikes back hard, driving low, punching She’bara in the kidney, her other hand finally finding the small metal cylinder of the comlink.

“It’s a trap!” she manages, and she scatters backwards, narrowly avoiding a kick from the tall Chiss woman.

“Get out of there,” Cassian says, and his voice might sound calm if she didn’t know that the slight quiver in his tone is the price paid for the restraint he is forcing himself to show. “Jyn, the troopers are getting close to you!”

_Sure, Cassian,_ she thinks, dodging another attempted punch and driving her own knee towards She’bara, thwarted by a well-timed dodge. _Let me just get a quick handle on this situation and I’ll get out of this deathtrap as soon as I can!_

There’s a chance that She’bara hasn’t alerted the troopers to exactly where they are. If only Jyn can keep her from alerting them, she might be able to slip away.

_Surprise_ , Chirrut said, not too long ago, sparring with her in the confines of the cargo bay. _Surprise is of course your greatest asset. Never be afraid to attack. They will assume, because of your size, that you want to defend._

His echoing advice, even without his perpetually serene presence in front of her, is much more calming than the flashes of childhood fighting with the Partisans, and she feels centered. Confident (which should be a sign, right there, that she has something to worry about).

Striking quickly, she turns her defensive moves into offensive ones. She’bara has the size advantage, the height advantage. Every advantage. But Jyn just has to keep her quiet. Or at least keep her from calling out. She just needs to render her unconscious, or restrain her in some way, or _distract_ her, even, make it impossible for She’bara to take her mind off of Jyn. Just long enough for the troopers to run by, for Cassian to get here to add welcome backup.

What she doesn’t expect, what knocks her even further into surprising uselessness, is that She’bara doesn’t switch tactics. She doesn’t change to defense, instead reacts with surprising, feral desperation, swatting Jyn away. She clashes with her, and she knows exactly how to use her size, and she sweeps Jyn’s leg out from under her, pinning her, and she claps one hand over Jyn’s mouth, and the other hand locks on Jyn’s throat, and she squeezes Jyn into the ground, grinding her into the dirt. Jyn’s hips try to buck her off, her hands try to scrabble at She’bara’s fingers, her brain firing off panicked signals that override every training she’s ever had.

This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

Something’s wrong. Something doesn’t make sense.

* * *

Cassian does not feel smug about much of anything. Ever. He isn’t the type of man to say he called it, or he was right, or to say ‘I told you this would happen’. That’s K-2SO’s job, usually.

Instead – always – there is a savage dissatisfaction with himself. Whether or not a thing going wrong is in any way related to him, he will wear the burden of it.

_You knew,_ he thinks as he scrambles backward off the three story high building he’s been hiding on. _You knew it was dangerous and you agreed to this anyway._

Logic, the small voice in his head that for the past few months has sounded more and more like Jyn, says, _if it was you, you would still be in trouble. This would still be a trap._

But it’s Jyn. It’s _Jyn_. There is not a single moment in which he would have her undertake the more dangerous thing.

He sticks to the flat roofs that surround the spaceport center. The troopers are still doing their strange shuffling jog along the street, and it becomes a race, turns into a desperate scramble across the town. More open and foolhardy than almost anything he’s ever done. It fittingly reminds him of the desperate escape after Tivik’s murder up the side of the buildings on Kafrene. It fittingly reminds him of the thing that put him directly in the path of Jyn.

_If I don’t make it out of here_ , he had thought to himself at the time, _If I don’t get away, if they kill me or capture me, the Rebellion won’t know about the planet killer. They won’t know about the pilot. They won’t know to go to Jedha._

The whole of the war could have been lost. It had all been on his shoulders.

It should feel like smaller stakes, now, for only one life to be on the line. He knows how dramatic it is, how fundamentally not true it is, but that doesn’t change the fact that the stakes feel no different than they did on Kafrene. If anything, they’re bigger. The forced calm he had felt in the wake of Tivik’s information, the odd serenity of being locked into a mission, totally focused on the outcome and not the hypothetical disasters that might derail him, is absent now. Only cold panic remains. Flashes of sense memory, things like her skin under his fingertips and her gasp when he entered her and the way she had asked him if he had ever loved anyone before.

She’s pressing up against the glass that compartmentalizes his mind, keeps him efficient, keeps him moving and staying out of the sight lines of the troopers. Pressing against, but not breaking through. He can do this. He _has_ to do this. Not only to save her – though, _Force_ , of course that’s the most important part – but to prove to them both that this won’t stop him. That his fear and his love and his pragmatism, all warring bodies, can coexist.

He is aware enough to notice that the troopers seem to be searching, that they have clearly not yet found what they’re looking for, that they don’t know for sure where Jyn and She’bara are. He notices that, accepts that, integrates that firmly into his current plans but all the while Jyn is floating in a bacta tank on Yavin after being shot on the Afflictor. She’s vanishing into a cloud of smoke after the grenade exploded on Kopha. She’s missing from Baze’s side on Hoth, her tauntaun gone, her half-frozen body clinging to Baze and to consciousness by only a hair’s breadth while his heart stops in his chest and he asks where she is.

She is in danger, she is in pain, and he can scarcely stand it, but he knew. He knew that this could happen, and these are the risks they take.

More than that, really, because _risks_ implies that there’s a choice in the matter. As long as there’s a war for the both of them to fight, things like this are going to continue to happen. Until the war is over or one or both of them are dead.

That should be harder to accept, Cassian thinks. He shouldn’t so easily know it to be true. Surely he should struggle against it, the fatality of it. Surely he should think there’s some way to keep her safe, some chance to keep her from running into battle again. But that would be misunderstanding the situation, and Cassian isn’t in the habit of doing that just because he wishes things were better than they are. Jyn would never consent to wait in safety, just as he wouldn’t. They are alike in so many ways. This is one of the most unfortunate.

He reaches the courtyard into which Jyn disappeared minutes ago, and he does not hesitate, because there is no time to hesitate. He lurches straight to the edge of the building, his rifle to his shoulder, ready for anything.

She’bara is straddling Jyn, one hand on Jyn’s throat, the other over her mouth, and Jyn is trying to fight her off, but her face is red, her movements weak and uncoordinated, her hands unable to do much more than bat uselessly at the larger woman. Cassian’s vision nearly whites out with terror, and he moves, scrambling to the side, getting to a sightline that won’t risk a blaster bolt going straight through She’bara and into Jyn.

He must make a noise, his feet scuffing on the metal roof, or maybe it’s his shadow sending something shifting in her line of vision. Whatever it is, She’bara senses it. She swivels, relieving a little pressure off of Jyn’s throat, the hand that was seconds ago on Jyn’s mouth suddenly clutching a pistol, swinging it towards Cassian. He can’t fire, can’t risk hitting Jyn, and he ducks quickly out of sight as the shot rings out.

It isn’t loud, the pistol, but there’s no guarantee that the troopers won’t hear. It may have been meant as a signal, and even if it wasn’t, she won’t waste any time in drawing them near, now that she knows he’s up here. He can practically hear K-2SO’s voice, the calculations coming out smoothly and easily as if he isn’t narrating the chances of Cassian’s death, Jyn’s death, the destruction of the entire galaxy, whatever else he has decided needs to be broken down to numbers.

Cassian’s not sure of the math, exactly, but he knows that most of what K-2SO would be saying would be pretty fatalistic, even for him.

_What are the odds of the troopers storming the courtyard? What are the odds of She’bara killing Jyn with that pistol before I can do anything? What are the odds of Jyn and I both surviving this?_

K-2SO would probably shake his head, pitying. Say, _oh, Cassian_ in that drawling way he has when he doesn’t want to answer.

He doesn’t think K-2SO would have a lot of good to say about the plan he settles on, but K-2SO isn’t here, and Cassian doesn’t have time. With a curse, he staggers forward, away from the edge, away from the courtyard and She’bara and Jyn, drawing a thermal detonator from his belt. The only one he’s carrying.

_For emergencies_ , they’d decided. This seems emergency enough.

“Hang on, Jyn,” he says into his comlink, hoping beyond hope that she’s still listening. “I’m coming.”

* * *

“Hang on, Jyn.”

Jyn isn’t angry that Cassian came for her, that he recklessly almost got himself shot for her. Frankly, it would be a little silly not to expect him to. But it’s rage that courses through her nonetheless, and for a second that rage is so potent that she can’t put the pieces together.

To be fair, she’s on the verge of losing consciousness. She would have understood long before now if she wasn’t so busy trying to suck in every molecule of oxygen that she can around She’bara’s grip.

It just strikes her: why is She’bara holding her down? She has a gun. She could shoot her. Threaten her. Get Jyn to her feet and deliver her to the troopers. Instead she’s here, straddling Jyn, keeping her on the ground, and the first thing she did when she got Jyn on her back was to put her hand over Jyn’s mouth.

Wait. _Wait_. She understands. She slams back into consciousness, energy surging into her fingertips. She’s not sure _where_ Cassian is, how close he is, where he _went,_ but if he has an opportunity to take the shot, he will, and Jyn can’t let that happen.

She bucks harder, surprising She’bara momentarily from her vigil, her squinting upward into the sun, looking for Cassian on the roof above with signs of real nervousness on her face. Jyn takes advantage of her surprise and manages to unseat her, twisting her hips and bringing one elbow up to knock She’bara’s hand free.

Breath. Oxygen. Jyn nearly retches from the suddenness of it, her mind clearing and her body revolting, stomach heaving. But she doesn’t let it distract her. She’bara doesn’t try to grab for her again, settling for holding the pistol up and trained on Jyn this time.

At this point, Jyn’s thinking, _fine, point the blaster at me. As long as you let me_ breathe. She remains kneeling there, watching She’bara, trying to breathe normally enough so that she can tell She’bara that this is all a terrible, stupid mistake.

Then, in the street, an explosion.

She’bara looks away for long enough for Jyn to make a move. Jyn slings herself forward, pushing off her knees and barreling into the other woman, knocking the pistol wide, sending a bolt thudding into the side of the building, burn barely sizzling along the skin of Jyn’s arm. She doesn’t give She’bara a chance to recover, keeps her off her balance, rips the pistol from her hand, kicks her onto her back. Out on the street, shouting and shooting, but in the courtyard it’s just the heaving breaths of both women, echoing off the walls around them.

“Cassian?” Jyn asks, panicked, into her comlink.

“Here!” he says from the roof, and it’s only seconds before he’s dropping down onto the ground in front of her. He’s pale and breathless as he jogs the last few feet to her, his blaster pistol out and trained on She’bara with a trembling ruthlessness that is the only sign of his fear. “I bought us some time, but we have to move. Are you all right?”

Looking her over, competent and focused but sparing her the worry that he can’t seem to keep from peeking through. Jyn’s heart swells with affection, and she nods. Cassian doesn’t believe her, plainly, angles his head a bit to get a look at her throat, and she wonders if the bruises have already started to show or if he can just tell they’ll be there from the hoarseness of her voice.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” she says, changing her originally intended ‘miscommunication’ into the shorter word at the last moment because _fuck_ , it hurts to talk. She swallows heavily and looks back at She’bara, still on the ground, looking up at both of them with her teeth bared. “She thinks we’re the spies, Cassian.”

“What?” Revolted, as if the thought makes him physically ill. Knowing Cassian, it probably does. “Why would she think that?”

“We’re no longer with the Rebellion, we show up here without them, and I herd her into this area and suddenly turn on her.”

“You need to be certain. The troopers are there,” Cassian says, pointing wildly towards the mouth of the alley. “Right now, they’re out there.”

“How many did you kill?”

“I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but I’m fairly sure the answer is almost all of them. Doesn’t mean there won’t be more.”

“The attack. We should sound the attack. Or, I don’t know, make a run for it. But we can’t leave her here. She’s not a spy.”

“ _Someone_ is,” She’bara says from the ground, pushing herself into a seated position. She seems to have reached the same conclusion that Jyn did, although there’s always a chance she’s pretending at it. Jyn puts some distance between them, just in case, rubbing absently at her throat.

“If we sound the attack, and _this_ wasn’t the trap…” Cassian starts, but he doesn’t finish, because he knows he doesn’t need to. Jyn will follow.

“They know we’re here,” She’bara says. “They knew we were coming.” She’s on her feet now, and Cassian angles himself between she and Jyn. Whether it’s to keep She’bara from attacking Jyn or to keep Jyn from attacking She’bara, Jyn isn’t sure.

“Well, it wasn’t us,” Jyn growls, peering around his shoulder.

“We don’t have time for this,” Cassian reminds them, again pointing to the mouth of the alley, as if they could have forgotten. Beyond, they can hear the sounds of people panicking, troopers shouting orders. They won’t remain safe here for much longer. “We need to get out of here!”

“So call off the strike? Lose this opportunity and let the spaceport go?” She’bara asks. “Or continue anyway, hoping that _this_ was the trap, and that there isn’t anything worse waiting for us.”

“You’re asking _us_?” Jyn asks. “It’s your resistance. It’s your call.”

She’bara scowls mightily at that, pulling out her comlink.

“I was looking more for advice. But, sure. Being snarky about it is _so_ helpful.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, weighing the comlink in her hand as if weighing the decision physically, and then exhaling slowly.

“Move forward with the attack,” she says into her comms. “Hit them hard, now. There’s been an explosion at the northern market. Take the southern entrance and work your way there. Top priority is any ships in the central dock. We’ll need pilots to take them into the air, defend from any incoming Imperial forces.”

Clipping the comlink back to her collar, she looks at Jyn and Cassian, her eyes hard, steely, barely hiding her obvious uncertainty. She swallows, and Jyn can see the glimmer of it, the weight of having made the decision and knowing that the consequences will be hers.

“If it’s any consolation,” she finds it in herself to say. “That’s what I would have advised.”

She can practically feel Cassian rolling his eyes at her, but he doesn’t turn to look at her. Just starts pacing the small courtyard, looking for a way up or out. His eyes are tight, the only sign of his fear.

_Trapped_ , his body language says. _We’re trapped._

Jyn, moving quickly, edges towards the mouth of the alley and peeks out. There’s a quickly growing gathering of troopers, but they aren’t doing anything yet. Too wrapped up in the carnage left by Cassian’s grenade. Throwing another grenade is always an option, but Jyn only has the one, and she’s not sure this qualifies as an emergency yet. Besides, she thinks she can probably work out a slightly more elegant solution.

Of course, her idea of ‘slightly more elegant’ turns out to be waiting for a loud burst of shouting and noise from the street and then kicking down one of the two wooden doors in the alley, but. _Still_. Not an explosion.

“Come on, Captain!” She’bara says, tugging Cassian’s jacket. “Your Jyn seems to have a plan.”


	6. I Knew You Were Lying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone still commenting! I really appreciate all the feedback! Hopefully this will be the 2nd to last chapter of this mission (how did this one get so long?? I still don't know!) and then it will be a short Interlude, and then the final mission! I would love to get back up to my former speed now that I've gotten over this lack-of-inspiration speedbump, but unfortunately, real life keeps getting in the way. Hopefully, I will at least be able to post a little faster!

Jyn does _not_ have a plan.

But there are only a few ways out, and so she takes one of them.

Then again, She’bara seems the sort of person – much like Jyn herself – who would consider that as good a plan as any.

Cassian and She’bara behind her, Jyn enters the building with her blaster pistol drawn. It’s a personal dwelling, elegantly furnished. That alone makes her wary, because you don’t get wealthy in an Imperial-occupied town by being the kind of person who will look the other way when rebels come bursting through your doors. But she hears no reaction, no yelp of surprise or call for Imperial aid. The bottom floor, at least, is empty, and there no sound from the floor above.

“This won’t hold,” Cassian says as he secures the now half-broken door behind him. Jyn shakes her head and stalks forward to the next room, She’bara following close, and they duck down in front of the two windows that provide a glimpse out into the street, both of them near to holding their breaths as they peek past the curtains, just enough to see what’s happening.

“What are you thinking?” She’bara asks. The front door to the dwelling is between them, snugly bracketed by the two windows. If they’re feeling bold, they could try to get out this way, try to look casual, blend in with the people quickly trying to vacate the street, but Jyn doesn’t need K-2SO to tell her the odds on _that_ working for more than a few seconds.

“Upstairs,” she says finally, and She’bara nods.

They go, moving silently. Cassian abandons his post by the door and leads the way up the small spiral staircase, ready to stop any cries for alarm before they begin. He’s wearing his spy’s face, blank and drawn, but Jyn knows she isn’t imagining that it seems more grim than usual.

The sweep of the rooms is completed quickly, and they post up in the dwelling’s only bedroom, just above the front door. Cassian and Jyn stay together on one side of the large window that provides a view of the street below, and She’bara takes the other. It’s a comfort for Jyn, even in the middle of this situation, to feel Cassian’s presence at her back, his hand flat between her shoulder blades, steady and unwavering as they peer past the curtains, watching. The troopers below are starting to organize, starting to gesture wildly to the different side streets. There aren’t many of them yet, but Jyn remembers Dawara, how it felt like they appeared from every street once the alarm had sounded. This area of the town won’t be empty for long.

“When my people launch the attack, we can slip away in the chaos,” She’bara says, but she doesn’t sound entirely confident. The lives of her people are in her hands now. Jyn knows the feeling. She also knows the feeling of failure when it doesn’t work out. Scarif was a success. Scarif saved the galaxy. But so many good people died on and above that planet, and Jyn was the one who led them there.

“Your people are launching their attack all the way across town,” Cassian says. “The Imperials will be on us long before then.” He moves away from the window, tugging Jyn along with him. She’bara follows, closes the bedroom door, faces them.

“Well then what do you propose?” she asks, hands on her hips. “Staying put? At least in here, there’s a bottleneck. We can hold them off.”

“For how long? Seconds? Minutes? It isn’t good enough.”

“You’re a real joy, you know that?” She’bara snaps. “What’s _your_ idea?”

“I don’t know! That’s the point!” Cassian says, rapidly losing patience that he hardly had to begin with.

“He doesn’t like to go off plan,” Jyn explains.

“No one likes to go off plan. Not in war.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a good improviser,” She’bara says. “Detonator?”

“Here.”

Cassian’s blood pressure must be through the roof, and he looks at Jyn with frank incredulity, blocking her hand as she tries to pass her only thermal detonator to the Chiss woman.

“She tried to strangle you.”

“Accidentally. I’ve forgiven her. Take it.”

She’bara takes the grenade and slides back over to the window. Downstairs, they can hear the sound of someone knocking on the door, troopers calling out for the owners to comply with a routine investigation. Cassian curses, moves Jyn out of the way of the door, towards the back of the room. She’bara unlatches the window with an almost gleeful expression that makes Jyn regret handing over that grenade already.

“What are you doing?” Cassian asks, still pulling Jyn back towards him, his rifle turned towards the door. Despite his earlier comment about the bottleneck, he seems ready to make a stand. “Get away from there.”

“I have a good arm,” She’bara replies. “Be ready.”

“For _what_?” Cassian asks. But She’bara ignores him, winds back, and, despite Cassian’s very quick “no, no, no, no!” hurls the detonator. “What the _fuck_?”

“Distraction,” She’bara says, and she promptly leaps out the second floor window.

Cassian’s loud Festian curses are drowned out by the sound of the explosion, and he and Jyn run together to the window. Through the smoke and debris, they can see the troopers scattering, looking for cover down the opposite road, their eyes all turned toward the building She’bara’s grenade has hit. It’s fairly far down the street.

“Well,” Jyn says, and despite Cassian’s warning sigh, she continues, “she wasn’t wrong about her arm.”

Cassian makes some kind of frustrated, disgusted noise, but chooses not to respond to her.

A quick search of the chaos in front of them reveals that She’bara has landed safely behind some market stalls, and that she’s already up and sprinting away, looking back over her shoulder for them.

“Improvising,” Cassian growls, and he stows his pistol. Glances over at Jyn. “Ready?”

Jyn goes first, hitting the ground harder than she expected but rolling quickly to her feet and following the Chiss woman. There’s gunfire in the distance, the sounds of the resistance fighters approaching, but it’s too far away to hope for much of a distraction from those quarters. Jyn looks back to make sure that Cassian is behind her. He’s scrambling to his feet, firing back at a Stormtrooper who noticed too much, and Jyn stops to cover him until he’s by her side again.

Cassian’s long-ago-noticed herd mode is in full effect as he pushes Jyn along, keeps her moving, both of them firing backwards as they go. If there were more people on the streets it might be easier to slip away, but the presence of so many Imperial troopers in one place often has the effect of scattering civilians before the fighting even starts.

“Come on!” Cassian yells, putting on a burst of speed, covering her as they follow She’bara’s dwindling form in front of them.

One turn. Another. A third. She’bara always stays like a ghost in front of them, maddeningly out of reach, and every time they turn the corner, Jyn is convinced that she’s going to be gone entirely, vanished, nowhere to be seen.

It happens on the fifth turn.

She and Cassian fairly slide around the corner, having left most of the gunfire behind, their pursuers getting lost in the warren of winding roads or maybe just giving up for now, now that the other side of town echoes with the sounds of a much bigger problem. They stagger against the wall of the building beside them, colliding with each other in their clumsiness, chests heaving with exertion, and She’bara is gone.

In the place they expected to see her still-retreating silhouette is a steady line of Stormtroopers.

Jyn’s forward momentum turns instantly into a backward scramble, but the troopers have apparently decided to be efficient at the worst possible time, and they react too quickly.

There’s a brief skirmish – they don’t go down without a fight – but ultimately, the end of it finds Jyn and Cassian on their knees in the middle of the street, hands behind their heads, a new bruise blossoming on Jyn’s cheek and one of Cassian’s eyes already swelling shut.

Jyn isn’t afraid at first. It’s for a few reasons: the adrenaline of the fight fading too slowly, the fact that She’bara is nearby, the fact that the resistance – along with the rest of Rogue One – is approaching with every second they can stall this uncertain, infighting group of troopers, who can’t seem to stop arguing about what to do with their prisoners long enough to even ask them any questions.

But then Cassian moves, shifts his weight, that Scarif injury again making his leg spasm, and one of the troopers swings on them, his rifle extended out, nearly touching Cassian’s forehead, and the breath leaves Jyn’s lungs in a lurching exhale.

Because there’s a visceral quality to it that was absent from her brain before. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen from her earlier run-in with She’bara, or maybe it’s just because they’ve had so many chances, so many last stands that have turned out fine, that it’s almost hard to remember.

One itchy trigger finger, a jerk of a single digit, and Cassian will be dead in front of her.

It strikes her, punches her low and hard in the chest, and she wants to move, wants to tackle the trooper back, jerk the gun away from him, wants to beat him in the face with it until his helmet cracks beneath the butt of the rifle, but if she moves, if she so much as makes a sound, it might be enough to end everything.

Cassian seems unaffected by it. Stares back up at the trooper with his lip curled, his eyes hard and damning. Daring, almost, and it makes Jyn angry even as she’s stricken with admiration, with adoration, with love.

_I wouldn’t love her half so much if she wasn’t so dedicated,_ She’bara had said of Aja, and it’s true of Jyn’s feelings for Cassian even as it’s true that in this moment, Jyn would give anything for Cassian to be the kind of man who stays out of a fight.

_I can’t protect you_ , she thinks, and she understands now the fear that Cassian must feel every time he relents his control and stows his doubts and sends her on her way to do something dangerous without him.

It’s a heartbeat of a moment, the three of them suspended there, waiting to see who will make the first move, but the moment has to end.

“What did I say about not moving?” the trooper asks, and Jyn feels relief bubbling up inside of her, because he’s just a trooper. Just another smug, stupid soldier, demanding compliance, flexing his muscles and enjoying the thrill of fear that people show in the face of his power. This isn’t someone scared and uncertain who might accidentally tear from Jyn the thing she needs to keep closest. This is someone who wants to _make_ people scared and uncertain.

Well, Jyn can certainly give him that.

“Please,” she says, and the gun swivels to her, and she catches the look that Cassian gives her out of the corner of his eye, the twitch of his fingers, and she understands his fear so much better than she could have only minutes ago. She throws her fear into her voice, removes every restraint that she has built up inside her over the years. “Please, we’re just trying to get away from the fighting. We don’t want any trouble.”

“Don’t want any trouble?” one of the other troopers asks, stepping up, laughing bitterly, the sound grating and strange behind his mask. “Gave us enough trouble already. Never seen a person small as you fight like that. You almost _killed_ me.”

“Not wanting trouble doesn’t mean trouble won’t find you,” Jyn says stubbornly. “So I learned how to fight. You surprised us, that’s all. My husband has a bad leg, it hurts to kneel. That’s why he moved. Please. We just want to go home.”

The troopers look back to Cassian, who has transformed from the man whose eyes flashed with hate into an exhausted, battered shell, leaning heavily against Jyn’s side, his face twisted into a pitiful grimace.

“We’re not on anyone’s side,” he says, the words bitten off, sharp, like shards of bone. “I’m just trying to keep my family alive.”

“We have a daughter,” Jyn says, the lie coming naturally, coming out as a sob. “ _Please_.”

“Listen, just…” the trooper starts, but he doesn’t get to finish the sentence. The blaster bolts – two, then three, then a whole barrage ( _Baze_? Jyn wonders distantly, but it’s too soon for him, and the sounds aren’t right. That’s a blaster rifle wielded by someone who doesn’t quite know how to use it) – ring out from both sides of the street. The trooper holding the gun on her falls forward, nearly knocking Jyn over completely. She takes the blaster from his hands as he crumbles, and she helps their unseen rescuers take out the rest.

It’s over. It’s _over_. They’re still exposed, on the street, in the middle of a warzone that’s about to get a hundred times worse, but she’s holding the blaster that could have killed Cassian, and it’s over.

She turns to look at him, finding him standing just behind her, another stolen Stormtrooper rifle in his grip, and he looks her over with the same ache in his eyes that she feels behind hers.

It’s never going to be easier than this. _There’s always going to be a next time_.

It hadn’t felt so exhausting when she said that to him. Now it does. Makes her think that the Jyn of old, the Jyn that ran from fights and picked only the battles she knew she could survive, had the right idea.

“All right?” she asks him.

“Yeah. You?”

“Fine.”

It feels like the best they can hope for. And it’s such an odd moment to realize it, but Jyn for the first time feels herself wanting _more._

“Hey. Look who I ran into. Small moon, right?” She’bara asks, stepping out from a doorway up ahead, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. And it’s a surprise, though it really shouldn’t be, to see the hulking form of K-2SO as he picks his way carefully down the slightly sloped street, looking utterly ridiculous with a blaster rifle dangling from his hand.

“Cassian. Jyn,” he says. Carefully measured, though Jyn knows he must feel something close to giddy. Not _only_ was he allowed to use a blaster, but he helped save Cassian’s life. If droids have fantasies, this surely must be one of his top ten.

“What are you doing here?” Cassian asks. “Where are the others?”

“Bodhi and I decided I would be better off looking for you. He is with the pilots, and they don’t like me very much.”

“Which I’m sure is entirely unearned,” Jyn says. Her heart is still thudding out an uncertain rhythm, and she’s sure that it will be a long while before she can close her eyes without seeing Cassian’s face so close to death, but K-2SO’s presence is a welcome distraction.

Shit, but that’s a scary thing to realize.

“I imagine the talk of spies has them nervous about the presence of an Imperial security droid in their midst. I tried to explain that I had been reprogrammed, but it did not seem to help. As if a spy would be so _obvious._ ”

“How did you even find us?” Jyn wonders, snagging a few detonators from the belt of one of the troopers before walking up to K-2SO, the droid looming tall, standing straight instead of his usual insolent slouch, clearly proud of himself.

“I followed the sounds of unbridled chaos and knew you’d be close,” he says, and Jyn laughs, surprises even _herself_ by patting her hand lightly against his hip joint. K-2SO’s eyes do that wide, incredulous thing they do sometimes, his circuits making that whirring sound. She pretends not to notice. K-2SO continues as if she hadn’t touched him at all. “Actually, I took the liberty of placing a tracker on you before you left.”

“ _K_ ,” Cassian sighs, finally choosing the least damaged rifle out of the ones available from the dead troopers. He hands another to She’bara, who quickly holsters her pistol to take it. Jyn can’t decide if she’s angry about this yet.

“You put a _tracker_ on me? When?”

“I slipped it into the lining of your jacket when you were sleeping,” K-2SO answers, as if that’s a totally normal thing to say, and Jyn turns over her shoulder, looks at Cassian.

“I’ll talk to him,” Cassian promises. “But we have to go.”

“I know a place. We can hide out there until the fighting reaches us. Not very thrilling, but we’re still behind enemy lines for now, and it’s better not to take any chances.”

Cassian glances over at Jyn when She’bara speaks, and Jyn wonders if he’s thinking of the gun pressed to _her_ forehead.

“We’ve had enough excitement for a little while,” he says.

* * *

“It’s empty,” She’bara says, once they’ve entered the dwelling and locked the door behind them. There are no windows in this entry room, a small combination of kitchen and living room. “I know the Rodian who lives here. He’s not coming back for a week or more. We’re safe here.”

Jyn isn’t surprised when Cassian goes to check out the back rooms anyway, but she stays in the circular main room with She’bara, catching her breath. K-2SO follows Cassian, still holding his blaster. Jyn has a feeling that they’re going to have a hard time getting it away from him.

“Are you hurt?” She’bara asks, and Jyn lets out a coughing sort of laugh, unwinding her scarf from around her neck.

“You tell me,” she says. Her voice is still a little rough, and she angles her chin up so She’bara can see. “How does it look?”

“ _Shit_. I’m sorry about that,” She’bara says, squinting in the dim light, stepping closer. “It looks terrible.”

“I thought it might.”

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t mean to do it. I just…I thought you were going to call out to them. I just wanted to make sure you couldn’t give away our position. Fuck, what a mess. How did you realize I wasn’t the spy?”

“It took me longer than it should have, really. Lack of oxygen will do that to you, I suppose, and then you took a shot at Cassian, which made me too angry to think it through. But once I realized that you had covered my mouth with your hand to keep me from crying out, and how little sense that made if you were the spy…it was easy enough.”

“Smart girl,” She’bara says, sighing, reluctant, apologetic. As Cassian emerges from the back rooms, still looking nervy, She’bara steps back, puts some distance between she and Jyn. “Anything?” she asks, knowing there won’t have been. Cassian doesn’t look amused by the attempt at a teasing tone.

“There are windows in the bedroom. We should stay in here for now. We weren’t closely followed, but until we know better what’s going on out there, we shouldn’t risk it. And K, show Jyn where the tracker is. We need to destroy it. Not likely they’ll hijack the signal, but we shouldn’t risk it.”

“I’ve told you before that isn’t how these trackers work,” K-2SO says, but he stomps over to Jyn and reaches for her jacket, fingers wadding up the leather, crushing the bug within. “But you spies are always so paranoid.”

“You put a _tracker_ on me while I slept,” Jyn points out. “ _That’s_ not paranoid?”

“I was trying to keep you safe.”

“And as surprisingly flattering as that is...my jacket was with me, in Cassian’s quarters, which means you had to sneak in while we were sleeping. And we were _definitely_ not wearing any clothes last night.”

“Which is relevant to my purposes exactly zero percent,” K-2SO scoffs. “A ‘thank you’ would not be unwelcome. Your friend was outnumbered. There was a seventy-seven percent chance of death or capture for all three of you before I stepped in. And it is especially noteworthy given that I am not in the habit of trying to help people who have once threatened to _tweak_ me.”

“I was beginning to think you didn’t remember me,” She’bara says, laughing loudly. K-2SO makes a sound that might be an attempt to approximate a human snort of disdain.

“As if I could forget,” he says. Cassian steps between them, raps his knuckles against K-2SO’s hip.

“Before _I_ forget: update your programming. No more trackers on anyone on the team unless I explicitly ask you to. Understood?” Turning to Jyn, he gives her a somewhat mournful look. “If you’re not _very_ specific to him…I told him not to place trackers on me without my knowledge.”

“You did not say anything about Jyn,” K-2SO replies, smug.

“I gave you that order before we even _met_ Jyn.”

“Yes, and you did not update it. That was foolish on your part.”

“I also told you to not be so pedantic.”

“And I told you that is impossible.”

“You did.”

“Well, thanks, anyway,” Jyn says. Now K-2SO and Cassian are _both_ looking at her incredulously. “Again, it made me very uncomfortable, and please don’t come into Cassian’s room when we’re not wearing clothes, but thank you. You _did_ save us.”

“And thank you,” K-2SO says, surprisingly soft. “For speaking up and keeping Cassian from being killed.”

Jyn smiles at him, _actually_ smiles at him. There’s not even an ounce of sarcasm involved.

“Saw that, did you?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Now _I_ am the one uncomfortable,” Cassian admits. “K, you need to…” but he bites off his words with a curse when he finally looks over at Jyn and spots the deepening purple around her neck, visible now that she’s craning up to grin at K-2SO.

“Is it really that bad?” she asks.

“Yes,” She’bara admits, grimacing.

“I need to check this out in the mirror,” Jyn says. “Where’s the ‘fresher?”

* * *

Cassian’s brain is suited to action. To improvisation, despite Jyn’s crack about Cassian not liking to go off plan. Of course he doesn’t, of course he would much rather be careful and cautious, would rather not expose himself to any unnecessary risks, but he also understands that that’s not always feasible. Half his life has been spent running away from the explosions that result from a plan gone wrong. Half his life has been spent picking up the pieces that remain of an idea that went to shit.

It’s not that it’s different now that he has someone else by his side, someone to watch out for. He knows that Jyn is capable, just as he knows that _he_ is capable, and so he knows that they make a good team. But there’s more fear than he expected. Normally, that part of his brain is turned off. There’s no time for fear, just as there is no time for empathy. There is only time for reaction. Attempting to survive. Either you will or you won’t, and there’s never been a third option, and now there is. There’s a third outcome, and it’s the worst outcome of all: he survives, but Jyn does not.

He can’t help but dwell. Jyn was down there on the ground, struggling to breathe with someone’s fingers squeezing her throat shut. She was on her knees beside him, blaster pointed straight at her. He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t do anything. His hands haven’t stopped shaking.

He stands in the doorway as she inspects the bruising under her chin, the long fingerprints seared into the sides of her throat, leading down, meeting in the middle, the front a steady, deep purple. She fits her fingers along the imprints, and he remembers his own hand curled around the back of her neck last night, reverent and gentle, pulling her into a kiss. He has to look away.

“Thanks,” she says.

“For what?”

“Showing up.” Which is ridiculous, but he’s not in the mood to laugh, so he just nods instead. “Any updates from Baze?”

“He still talks too close to the comms, so it’s a struggle to understand him. But from what I can gather, they’re moving. Not meeting much resistance. Shouldn’t be much longer now. Once they take this area, we can join them.”

Jyn turns to face him, nodding, and he sees nothing of the woman she becomes when they’re alone in his quarters. He wonders if it’s the same for him, if he so effortlessly becomes another person in the field. Though he thinks he knows the answer to that.

He steps into the small room, and she looks up at him, tilting her head farther back, and he’s not sure if it’s an invitation or just because she’s so short, but he reaches his hand, slow enough for her to object, and she doesn’t. He touches the exposed skin, gently brushing along the bruises with his knuckles.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Since the first moment she reached out, on the shuttle on the way to Scarif, and seized his arm, sending almost _literal_ _sparks_ through him, he hasn’t known what he’s doing. And it has only gotten more obvious to him as the months pass, as he and Jyn come together more and more. Cassian has seduced, has blown off steam, before. But this? This softness, this casual ability to reach out and see the trusting way her eyes are turned up to look at him while he touches her wounds with a tenderness that doesn’t seem it should be allowed, this is new. Last night feels like half a dream, especially with her skin mottled beneath his fingertips. But even without the sex, the intimacies they’ve only just come to explore, this trusting foundation of touch between them is something shocking to Cassian, even _months_ after it began.

He has done so much. Hurt so many. He wonders if it will ever stop feeling blasphemous that he’s allowed this happiness, however brief it turns out to be.

“You’re all right,” he says. It was supposed to be a question, but it doesn’t come out quite that way. But she nods like it was, and she leans her head only slightly into his touch, and her eyes flutter closed for just a second. He presses his forehead against hers, forcing his own breathing to slow in time with hers. It feels like only seconds since he saw her struggling on the ground below. He hates the shaking weakness in his limbs and the distracted thought that this is what Draven meant when he said that Cassian was broken. But he shoves it aside, because he knows it isn’t right. They handled themselves. They’re here.

If anything, this proves that Draven was wrong.

“Thank you for coming for me,” she says, fingers tangling in his jacket, pulling him closer.

“Of course I did. I always will.”

He can tell that she believes him in the way she meets his eyes, her own going soft and a bit pained. Maybe she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. She bites back the words that would tell him to let her fall if he has to. Shakes her head against his.

“I knew you were lying,” She’bara says from the doorway, startling them both. They jolt apart as if they have been caught doing something wrong. The same awkward refusal to allow anyone the ammo of seeing them weak for each other. It makes Cassian want to laugh. It makes Cassian a bit sad for both of them. If they had not found each other when they did, if circumstances hadn’t forced them to confront the swelling adoration inside them, what would they have become? Lonely, hollow soldiers. Had there ever truly been a time in which he believed that that could be the whole of the rest of his life?

“Lying?” Jyn asks, winding her scarf back around her neck, hiding the damage.

“About your captain. Not that I don’t understand it. Don’t give away secrets that’ll hurt you. But you should learn to lie better.”

Jyn flushes, adjusts her scarf with a bit more force than is necessary. Probably insulted by the implication that she isn’t as good a liar as she thinks she is.

“Couldn’t be sure you weren’t a spy,” she points out.

“No, I understand. Sorry about nearly killing her.”

This to Cassian, who still can’t quite scrub the image from his mind of Jyn beneath She’bara’s hands, but he nods anyway.

“Let’s just get through this,” he says.

“You almost killed Jyn?” K-2SO wonders. His circuits whir loudly in the otherwise quiet dwelling. She’bara’s grimace implies she’s anticipating a stronger reaction than Cassian thinks K-2SO is probably going to give. “Oh dear.”

“ _Oh dear_?” Jyn asks, shooting Cassian a companionable grin that he shakes his head at fondly. As much as their constant bickering can be an annoyance, he never really seems to mind it. There was a time when he had no one, and then there was a time when he had only K-2SO. Since they first met, Jyn and K-2SO have been at odds, and though Jyn warmed to Cassian eventually, she clashes with K-2SO with the same old fire. It reminds Cassian of Yavin, of Jedha, of the very beginning. He likes that not everything has changed.

Even so, it touches something deep inside him when K-2SO says, “I’ve just realized that I find that outcome quite distressing.”

* * *

It should be easy enough to wait. And it _would_ be, except that She’bara starts to tease K-2SO about Jyn. It’s amusing enough, diverting enough to pass the time as they wait for updates from Baze or Bodhi, listening to the sounds of Stormtroopers running by in the streets, passing close to their hiding place but not entering into it. She’bara knows just what to say to rattle him, asking him questions about his primary functions that he complains are “extremely private”. She makes jokes about the KX series in general, until she realizes that K-2SO, more than anyone, has complaints about the now-discontinued product line. Their banter goes back and forth for a bit, and then She’bara makes the mistake of doubting his probability calculations, and then K-2SO has to prattle on with a hundred different examples.

“I’m going to dismantle _both_ of them,” Jyn whispers into Cassian’s shoulder, her eyes closed, her legs tucked up in front of her as they sit together on the floor in the entryway, their backs to the front door. Cassian lets out a withering sigh and thumps his head back against it.

“I’ve never met anyone who has made K go on like this on _purpose_ ,” he says. He briefly forgets what he was complaining about when Jyn shifts closer and idly strokes his hair.

“You clearly haven’t paid enough attention to when he and Bodhi start arguing about _ships_ ,” she says, bringing him back to the present.

“No, that’s true, I know to walk away when I hear the first mention of calibrations.”

Their low whispers, heads bent together, mean that they miss the context of K-2SO’s revelation. The first indication of a problem is when She’bara jumps to her feet, her blaster clattering off the table on which she was resting her legs. Her casual disrespect for K-2SO is gone, and she strides across the room to him, grabbing him by the ring of his torso and dragging him closer, to his obvious horror.

“ _Repeat that_ ,” She’bara says.

Jyn and Cassian can both be forgiven for thinking that K-2SO must have said something insulting, because that’s so common an occurrence that it’s the obvious choice.

But K-2SO says, his usual combination of smug and oblivious, “I thought you said my calculations were _useless_.”

“Eighty-four percent chance,” She’bara growls, her voice so filled with fire that Jyn knows it isn’t just an insult: She’bara is not the type to take anything personal to heart.

“There is an eighty-four percent chance that the traitor to your organization is a technician, yes. Isn’t it obvious? They are in the best position to overhear your…”

“A technician,” She’bara says, turning back to face Jyn, and Jyn reads the openness of the fear on her face and understands _acutely_ , because she knows it’s the expression that was on _her_ , only minutes ago outside.

“The technicians are all with Aja,” she says, understanding. “And Kir.”

“ _Shit_ ,” She’bara says.

“Do you have a way to get in contact with her?” Cassian asks, business-minded immediately, crossing the room to the steadily panicked Chiss in a few quick strides. His rigidity is calming in moments of chaos, Jyn well knows, and he’s especially steely now, forcing eye contact, not letting She’bara look away to worry or helplessly wring her hands.

“No. No contact. Wait! Yes, the emergency channel, but...”

“Monitored, perhaps, by the traitor,” Cassian says.

“Yes.”

“I will need more information to calculate the odds of that. How _many_ technicians are at the headquarters?” K-2SO asks.

“I don’t _know_. We don’t exactly do a headcount. Anyone who doesn’t fight will be back there. Comms technicians, engineers, mechanics, even _farmers._ I don’t…I’m not…I need to get back there.”

“No,” Cassian says, blocking She’bara’s way as Jyn scrambles to her feet to stand more securely in front of the door. She sympathizes with She’bara’s urgency – of _course_ she does – but she also understands the precariousness of their current situation.

Still. She’s not sure she would be any more level in She’bara’s shoes. Any slower could mean you wind up being seconds too late, and how could you _possibly_ live with that?

(If only she had climbed the ladder a bit faster. If only she had shot Krennic before the bombs fell. If only she…)

“Get out of the way, rebel,” She’bara snarls, and though she’s of a height with him, probably more muscular than him, Cassian refuses, standing in her path when she tries to push past him.

“Stop it! You run out there now, you get us all killed, and you get Aja killed as well. We need to do this smart. _Think_. There has to be a way for you to communicate to her that she isn’t safe!”

She’bara listens, which is a surprise and a relief wrapped in one. She thinks, her eyes going unfocused in a way that reminds Jyn of Cassian. The way he _physically_ looks for a plan, like he’s reading it over on a datapad in front of him.

“There’s…her assistant! Her old assistant. Alaria. She, she was seeing this man, turned out to be an Imp. It turned into a joke with the three of us. She called him a pretty piece…I know what to do.”

On her comms, She’bara gets set up to the correct channel, and she wastes no time.


	7. All the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone still reading and commenting! I haven't gotten around to comment replies yet, but I'll be doing that tonight! I'm sorry for how long this mission has taken (and how long it turned out to be??? why is it 40k?? I don't know). But we're in the home stretch now!

She’bara’s conversation with Aja is essentially nonsense: names and places that may as well just be noises to Jyn. She updates Aja on their progress without using any facts that Jyn recognizes as truth.

Not even an hour ago, this woman was trying to strangle her, but it hardly even occurs to Jyn to question it.

She’bara, with a tone of casual reminiscence, brings up Alaria, the hapless assistant – who is apparently dead now – and how when she discovered that her suitor was an Imperial, she hid herself away in her apartment and waited for She’bara to come for her so she wouldn’t have to confront him alone.

“Yes, poor girl,” Aja sighs. “That betrayal _did_ break her heart. I’m so glad to hear that you haven’t suffered more of the same with our new friends.”

She’bara closes her eyes against the relief and says, “yes, it is quite fortunate”, so apparently Aja has understood her message. The Chiss woman hesitates, seems self-conscious suddenly, as if she’d rather do this part anywhere else. But she probably understands better than anyone the necessity of taking these moments where you can find them, even if it’s humiliating in context. “Please stay safe, love,” she says.

“I should be saying the same to _you_. Don’t trouble yourself to come back too quickly. You need to be safe. Promise me.”

_I trust her enough_ , Jyn decides, and she deactivates her comms to give She’bara some privacy.

Cassian feels no such sympathy, and he’s still standing right beside her, watching her. His complete lack of expression doesn’t seem to make She’bara any more comfortable in talking to her lover, so Jyn tugs him away as subtly as she can, nudging him to the small hallway that connects the front and back rooms. Still out of view of the windows, but giving She’bara as much space as they can. K-2SO, blessedly, has managed to go whole _minutes_ without interrupting, and he follows his crewmates.

“What are you thinking?” Jyn asks Cassian, her voice low. She and K-2SO must look ridiculous, standing beside each other, her with her arms over her chest and him with his head tilted in the way he does when he wants to indicate that he’s waiting for input.

Cassian hesitates, glances back at She’bara, who is speaking quietly but passionately into her comlink. When he looks back at them, he seems torn.

“Aja is important to the resistance,” he admits. “The Empire’s plan here _may_ have been to weaken the resistance army with the increased troop presence that we interrupted, but… it’s more likely that they wanted to divert the army, leave the headquarters undefended.”

“We can’t just call off the attack, though. It’s too late for that,” Jyn says. “From the sounds of it, we only have a few minutes before they take this part of the town. And then it’s, what, five or ten minutes fighting to the spaceport?”

“If nothing disastrous happens.”

“Would you _like_ to hear the probability of that? Or can you figure out from my tone that it isn’t good?” K-2SO asks. Cassian closes his eyes. Jyn reaches out for him – habit, already – and curls a comforting hand around his arm.

“We need to act. I think the army should keep fighting. Have the pilots steal whatever ships haven’t been too damaged, and they can carry as many fighters as we think we can stand to lose back to the headquarters. Evacuate it entirely. She’bara was so busy watching us to make sure _we_ weren’t the leak…who knows what the spy has managed to get to the Empire? It might already be too late, but we have to try.”

“And the spy? If we evacuate the headquarters, we evacuate them, too,” Cassian points out.

“Aja will be safe for now.” She’bara slides into the hallway to join them, and Jyn pretends not to notice that her red eyes are matched now by red rings around them, the moisture still glimmering on the corner of one eyelid where she had failed to completely wipe it away.

“She knows what to do?” Cassian asks.

“The story about Alaria hiding in her rooms until I came for her? Total banthashit. Alaria had beaten that boy half to death with her bare hands by the time I showed up to take her to Aja’s for drinks. Aja’s a smart woman. Hopefully as smart as I think she is. If she has any sense, she’ll barricade herself in the saferoom we had made for her in case of something like this. That’s the problem with having a figurehead of the resistance: there’s someone you need to protect at all costs. Guess I’m lucky me and the resistance have the same priorities.”

Her laugh, then, is a little hard to listen to. Jittery and unfocused. Hurting. Jyn wishes she was the kind of person who could put her hand on a person’s shoulder, muster up the exact right words, and fix this. She can barely force a sympathetic smile. Fortunately, she’s pretty certain that She’bara is the kind of person who would react to that kind of unasked-for sympathy with disgust no matter _how_ expertly it was delivered.

“We were just talking about how to handle this,” Jyn says. She’bara nods, obviously desperate to talk about anything else. “And there’s not much of…”

“Wait,” K-2SO says, tilting his head even further to one side. If Cassian’s narrowed eyes are any indication, that’s abnormal behavior even for _him_. “I am picking up something interesting.”

“K,” Cassian prompts, his warning tone laced with exhaustion.

“There is an interference with Rogue One’s security sensors. I am receiving an alert.”

“You can do that?”

“Bodhi did it when we were on Hoth. He wanted me to be able to leave the ship without losing access to its superior information-gathering capabilities.” As always, pride when he speaks of the pilot. “It is convenient this way. Especially if we have to…”

“You can tell me about it later, K. _What_ interference?”

“You always say that, and you never want to listen. But _fine_. There is a large reading on the scanner. Larger than I would expect. Hence the alarm.”

“A reading of what, K?” Cassian asks. He is staying remarkably calm, considering he looks like he’s ready to rip K-2SO’s circuits out himself.

“Ships. _Alliance_ ships.”

* * *

It moves quite quickly after that, as things like this do. Cassian is able to hail the Rebellion forces, and he directs them where to land, in the lavender field outside the resistance headquarters. Jyn barks orders to Baze and Bodhi through their channel, She’bara updates Aja with more nonsense code that she promises the spy will not understand, and K-2SO stands around complaining that no one has given anything important to do.

As the resistance forces _finally_ move into their area, there is a polite, sharp knock at the door, clearly the work of a fighting staff, and Chirrut calls out, “come on, children. Droid. No more napping. We still have work to do!”

* * *

Once they’re back in the fight, Kirk’s Imperial presence falls apart. Jyn knows that she and Cassian deserve some credit for that: their news about the Alliance reinforcements spreads quickly, and even though none of the resistance fighters with them have actually even _seen_ said Alliance reinforcements, they are so cheered and excited by the news that they fight harder, reinvigorated by the promise of _help_. In the end, it gives them so much hope that they don’t even need the Alliance.

Most of the pilots in the resistance are uncomfortably like Bodhi – in that they were once Imperials and in that they were once cargo pilots, now being asked to engage in combat – but they are also ready and determined to prove themselves, so Jyn forces herself not to worry. She hugs Bodhi fiercely, in the heat of battle, before he gives her a sloppy salute and scuttles gracelessly away, ducking unnecessarily, hunched over, making his way into the relative openness of the shipyard. The Stormtroopers on the other side fire a few shots in his direction, but Jyn and Cassian and K-2SO make sure they don’t live to take any more.

Chirrut and Baze whirl through the smoke, one laying down cover for the other, and Jyn sees only pieces of them at a time. A flash of a red-lined robe here, a steady burst of bolts there, always on a different side of the square than expected. They move too quickly for the Imperials to pin down, so the Imperials mostly fire at Jyn and the others, the resistance troops trying to gain a steady hold on this area of town, but there is ample cover on the outskirts, and most of their shots are poorly placed, anyway.

“I’m going!” She’bara yells, pointing to a ship that has yet to be touched. It’s a small, short-distance jumper. Seats two, if Jyn remembers. No weapons capabilities, but they’re fast as shit. She’bara’s smile lights up her face, but it’s a feral, scary sort of smile, and Jyn knows that she is terrified. “You coming or not?”

“Go,” Cassian says, and Jyn, crouched with her shoulder up against his, turns to meet his tired eyes. “Someone needs to meet the Alliance troops, and it may as well be you. I’ll take care of things here.”

Jyn nods, knows it’s not a bad idea, but...

_He could die here without me._

“I…” she says, hopelessly, and he nods.

“I’ll cover you,” he says.

Which is, Jyn thinks wryly, about as romantic a thing as Cassian can be expected to say in a moment like this. There is a battle to win, and there are people to save, and there is an Empire to destroy. This is not the Cassian of his quarters on Rogue One, who can afford to go all tight-eyed and sad when he looks at her, who can afford to linger, fingertips pressing into her skin, looking at her like she’s the only thing that matters. She understands. _I wouldn’t love him half as much if he wasn’t so dedicated._  

“Okay,” she says, and she pulls her pistol from her holster, leaving the blaster rifle on the ground next to him. He might need the extra ammo, and it’s easier for her to run with just the pistol. Her back is to the stack of crates the three of them are hiding behind, and she takes a second to adjust her stance, ready to run. “Don’t die, yeah? And take care of K2. _Please_ do your best to make sure he doesn’t bring that rifle back with him. Not sure I like the idea of him having…”

But Cassian, her Cassian, full of unexpected softness, slides his hand along her jaw, clutches the back of her neck so tightly that it almost hurts, and he crashes his lips to hers.

For a second, her only thought is _what_ is _it about battlefields, Cassian?_ But then she understands, because she remembers the rifle pointed at his head, remembers that at any moment, at _any_ _moment_ they could cease to be anything. Everything they’ve fought for, everything they’ve wanted for so long and have only just begun to explore, could become an ever-foggy memory of a sparkling moment in time.

They were supposed to die together. It _still_ feels like they’re supposed to die together. And when they’re apart, when they take unequal risks, it means that they might not get to fulfill that wordless promise that they made to each other on Scarif. Looking into his eyes in that lift. Seeing her expression mirrored in his. Want. Promise.

He makes a hungry, hurting noise in the back of his throat, and she crashes back into herself.

Not a lift. Not Scarif.

She pulls away, already biting her lower lip, looking at him with a barely suppressed smile.

“Be safe,” he says, brushing his thumb across her lower lip.

“Stay alive,” she begs in reply.

* * *

She’bara is gracious enough, or scared enough, to refrain from saying anything about it until they’ve sprinted successfully across the battlefield to the small jumper and have rocketed up into the air. She handles the controls with an expertise that’s a frank relief, because Jyn still hasn’t mastered the art of _not_ flying in a shit way.

The battle rages below, but Jyn refuses to look down. Already she wishes that she had told She’bara _no_ , had stayed with her team, because not being able to at least have an _idea_ is horrifying. Any of them could have been killed already, in the minutes in which they have been in the air, and she might not know for _hours_ yet.

“So. I didn’t take your captain for a romantic,” She’bara says. Jyn sighs, thumps her head back against the seat.

“Where’s the emergency release? I’m bailing out,” she says, and She’bara laughs.

Both of them are so _obvious_. Their words are so false, filled with a wry lack of feeling that barely disguises anything. But if this is what She’bara needs, Jyn understands it. She wonder if it’s helping. She knows for sure that it isn’t helping _her_.

* * *

The pristine lavender field that Jyn so admired when they first landed has been transformed into a shipyard of its own. Alliance ships dot the landscape, surrounding the abandoned Rogue One, and troops get into formation, officers shouting for order.

There is a moment, brief but potent, in which Jyn balks under the pressure of being the person who will have to direct them. It’s not that there are so many – she estimates maybe fifty, maybe seventy-five troops – but that’s enough, she thinks, to warrant a bit of anxiety.

She glances over at She’bara, her blue face gone almost gray with fear, and she feels the familiar steel coming into her spine. The familiar fire into her eyes. She can’t fail She’bara now. She can’t fail any of them. This is going to be the first of many battles in Kopha’s liberation. This cannot be the end of their war.

* * *

The lead officer of the Alliance troops, Lieutenant Parsa, respectfully calls Jyn “Sergeant” and asks after “Captain Andor”, which tells Jyn with some relief that the infantry, at least, don’t know about the whole _pirate_ thing. Which _does_ make a certain amount of sense: leadership has probably been actively hiding the fact that the Scarif heroes took off on a stolen ship.

Afterwards, Jyn isn’t even sure what she _says_ to them. She’s flustered, defensive, probably a bit rude. But the officers fall behind her, the infantry falls behind her, and she and She’bara lead them into the forest.

“What are you planning?” She’bara asks her at one point, which makes Jyn laugh, a bit bitter. A bit terrified.

“I thought I was following your lead, actually,” she says. She’bara laughs too, but it’s strained, difficult. And Jyn has so rarely found herself in a position to give _anyone_ advice, so it takes a moment for her to figure out that that’s what she wants to do. “Just…” she starts, as if it’s simple, but she hesitates. Tries to think of a time when she actually followed the advice she’s about to give. Decides it doesn’t really matter. “Just try not to think of it as a big operation. Or…any operation. Just think of it the way you’d think of a normal job. I know that’s ridiculous. When we were going after the Death Star plans…”

“Wait, _what_?” She’bara asks.

“The Death Star plans. Before they blew it up, we had to…look, it’s a long story, and it’s not important.”

“Not _important_! You’re mad. You’re telling me that’s a story I could have heard by now? I’m trying to make small talk by asking you about your captain, and you went after plans for the kriffing Death Star?”

“I’ll tell you another time, She’bara. Let me get this out, because I really am trying to help: when I was leading the operation…”

“Oh, it’s ‘leading the operation’, now? Sure, not important in the slightest. I can’t believe you didn’t…sorry, no, you’re right. I’ll stop.”

“It wasn’t like it was _just_ me, leading them. It was a joint effort. But Cassian stepped aside and made me talk to the rest of the squad. Motivate them. And afterwards, when the mission started, I just…I had to stop thinking of them. Cruel as that sounds, callous and…and not entirely successful. But it was just…they all wanted something from me. Cassian, I know, he wanted redemption, and the others…I’m sure they were the same. I never even learned most of their names until after they’d died for us. I certainly don’t know what they did to think that following some petty criminal on a suicide mission was a good idea. But they all had their reasons. They had all done things that didn’t sit easy with them, but they did them in service of the Rebellion, and the Rebellion was preparing to surrender. They needed someone to look to, and they looked to _me_. I still don’t know why. I wasn’t even part of the Rebellion yet. I’d just lost everything, which wasn’t even much to begin with. I had spent years distrusting _everyone_ I met. The only thing they knew about me for sure was that I hated the Empire the way they did, and I wanted to tear it apart. I guess that was enough. But the point is that I couldn’t look at it as their redemption, or _my_ redemption, or the galaxy’s only hope. I had to treat it like it was just any other job. You know, stealing a meal to survive. I can do that. Done it a hundred times. Big operations are fucking terrifying. Leading them, even just being in them, it’s impossible. You have to think about the lives you could lose. The friends you could fail. It was the fate of the entire galaxy that we were carrying on our shoulders, and we thought we were it. Thought that if we failed, the Rebellion wouldn’t be able to help us. Maybe wouldn’t _want_ to help us.”

“Considering the Death Star is hardly a whisper of a rumor anymore, I’m guessing you did all right,” She’bara says, smiling softly over at her. Jyn shrugs, looks ahead into the forest in front of them.

“There were heavy casualties. My core team and three others made it out of there. We lost every other man who came aboard with us, and when the Rebel fleet came to help us, the losses were _immense_. But yes. We succeeded. We beamed the plans aboard a ship, and someone received them. We weren’t in time to save Alderaan, or Jedha, but what we did _mattered_. But when it was just me and Cassian and K2 in that Imperial facility, I had to turn it off. You can’t think like that. You can’t think ‘this is the most important thing I’ve ever done’, or ‘if I fail, billions will die’, because that will freeze you up. At least, that’s the way I work, and judging from the look on your face…”

“You’re not wrong,” She’bara says.

“I know that it’s difficult when it’s someone you care about. When their life is in danger and you’re the one who has to help. But if you can somehow convince yourself that the stakes aren’t what they are, it’s easier.”

“Your captain?” She’bara asks quietly.

“I hardly knew him then,” Jyn says, her voice equally as subdued. But in her mind she can hear that sickening thud of his back striking the metal beams on the way down, and she can feel her shoulders hitching up slightly, the shiver working its way down her spine. “But sometimes that doesn’t matter, if the time you _have_ spent together has been monumental, I suppose.”

“Both glib _and_ romantic,” She’bara says dryly. “We really _are_ alike, aren’t we?” But she softens, goes a little gentler, looks around to make sure no one is listening. “I’ll try to follow your advice. But this is a _lot_ of people, and I don’t even really have a plan.”

“Believe me,” Jyn replies, feeling the same frightened thud of her heart against her chest that she would bet She’bara is feeling now. “I know the feeling. But I’m here.”

She’bara’s smile is a little surprised this time, and a little touched.

“And to think I almost killed you,” she says, humming thoughtfully.

“I don’t think you came _that_ close,” Jyn replies, defensive. Which predictably only makes She’bara laugh harder.

Again, it’s that spiky, too-harsh kind of laugh. Obviously fake. Brutally dishonest. Jyn isn’t cruel enough to call her out.

* * *

The choice is made: the Alliance troops will station themselves around the headquarters, waiting to spring their trap on any attempted Imperial interference. She’bara and Jyn will head in alone, try to sort out who the spy is. But Lieutenant Parsa will be ready at the sound of alarm to storm the place.

“We won’t need it,” She’bara says. She’s lost any doubts she may have had. Or at least she’s gotten better at pretending not to have them. She gives Jyn a firm nod.

It’s tempting to try and raise Cassian on the comms before she goes in, but Jyn resists the impulse. She touches her necklace instead, the lump beneath her shirt, just for a bit of strength.

Lyra would be proud of her, she thinks.

* * *

They enter the cave together, and Jyn is glad to be able to trust She’bara now. _Trust goes both ways_. It’s not that she feels incapable of working alone anymore. She worked alone for most of her life. But she has learned the benefit of fighting with people you can trust beside you. It’s a heady feeling. Still new, after so many months of having Cassian and Bodhi and the Guardians there. Working with She’bara is different. She’bara isn’t a balancing force. If this was any other situation, Jyn would admit that they probably wouldn’t work well together. It would be _two_ reckless, impatient individuals on the same team. No infuriatingly rational Cassian there to say, _Jyn, that’s a bad idea_ , or _Jyn, relax_ , or _Jyn, do not fight that man just because he called you short_. Just She’bara and Jyn, fighting everyone they felt like fighting.

Sure, it might be more fun, but there’s a reason Jyn usually makes it out of missions without too many scrapes.

The benefit this time is that She’bara’s emotions are running high, and Jyn’s are fairly level (for her). She feels like the rational one for once.

Distantly, she thinks _I can’t wait to point that out to Cassian_. He might even really _laugh_. Might banish the ever-present sadness from his eyes for just a moment.

She’bara leads the way, and they do not speak. The network of tunnels seems larger than it did when Jyn was here last, maybe just because they’re so empty. Up ahead, they can hear the echoing, staticky sounds of battle relayed over a dozen different comms stations. Overlapping shouting and shooting and explosions. Jyn forces herself not to think about her family out there while she’s _here_ , safe.

When they’re close to the central room, She’bara holds up her hand, moves closer to Jyn, taps her ear with one finger. Jyn listens, and doesn’t have to wonder for long what She’bara is trying to say: the smooth, warm tones of Aja’s speech are recognizable even though the words are too low to understand.

“So much for the safe room,” Jyn murmurs, and She’bara rolls her eyes, gives a short shake of the head.

“Should have known.”

“She’s still alive.”

“And the spy hasn’t made themselves known. Yes. Doesn’t mean I’m not angry.”

Jyn snorts her agreement, asks, “so what’s the plan?”

“I keep her from getting killed, then kill her myself for not listening to me?”

“Mm. Maybe you’re more like Cassian than I thought. Sounds like something he would say.”

“Ugh. Shut up. Speaking of, any updates from loverboy?”

“None yet.”

“You should…”

But whatever she was saying is drowned out by the sudden crackle in their earpieces.

“Sergeant! It’s Parsa. We’ve got Imps incoming from the south. We’re going to wait until the first wave is in the treeline, take them out.”

“How many?” Jyn asks.

“Good amount. Hundred or so? Easy, though.”

Jyn rolls her eyes. Sure. Easy. Apparently Parsa is one of _those_ rebels.

“Just…be careful. Hit them hard, but smart. Surprise them. I don’t want anyone dying out there.”

“I’ll do my best, Sergeant.”

Jyn tucks her comlink back into her scarf and turns to She’bara, who is waiting with an anticipatory smile on her face.

“A hundred troopers,” she says. “Pretty significant number in one place for Kopha, especially if they think they’re going after a bunch of techies and a politician. Aja’ll be tickled to know they consider her such a threat.”

* * *

She’bara’s plan is to pretend that nothing is wrong. An interesting decision, but Jyn follows her lead. The Chiss woman adopts an almost comically casual swagger as she pushes into the room, announcing herself at the door with a, “hey, nobody do anything stupid and shoot me! It’s She’bara, and I’m coming in.”

There’s very little fanfare at her announcement – less than Jyn was expecting, certainly – but Aja sweeps forward. She’s dressed in a simple tunic and boots, not unlike what Jyn herself is wearing, making her look younger, less otherworldly. She still has an absurdly graceful way of carrying herself, something learned and practiced and not so easily shed as her robes. She steps up to She’bara and Jyn and, without showing any concern about the technicians, the wounded, and the scientists watching them, she kisses She’bara firmly on the lips.

When she pulls her into a hug, after, the reason for the closeness becomes clearer: into She’bara’s ear, she whispers, “I haven’t been able to determine which of them it is.”

Despite the words, when she pulls back, she has a perfectly placid smile on her pretty face.

“Back so soon?” she asks. “I’m happy to see you, of course. I just…the battle continues.”

This spoken loud enough so that the people standing nearest can hear, though she has a naturalness to her that keeps it from being obvious.

“Everything’s fine. Or, well. Not fine, but it’s _going_ to be. Unfortunately, my love, I think we have a _spy_ in our midst.”

She’bara is a lot less natural than Aja at this, but it doesn’t matter. The room falls gradually silent all the same, the chatter stopping, only the eerie radio transmissions from the fighters continuing. Jyn keeps her stance as natural as she can while unclipping her pistol from its holster.

“A spy?” asks Kir, the only one who feels comfortable enough to say something, and even _she_ sounds a bit squeaky, disbelieving.

“Mm. I was a bit surprised, too,” She’bara says with mock sadness. “Disappointing, isn’t it? And I thought we were presenting such a united front against these Imp bastards. Don’t worry, though, sweetheart. It’s all under control. Lucky for all of us, I’m a suspicious woman. Don’t trust too easily. Which in this case means I’ve taken some steps to ensure that anyone who thought to betray us would have a nasty little surprise waiting for them. Every comms station, every keystroke, anything anyone has done since I generously set up these machines for you, it’s all been logged and recorded.”

If Jyn was in a position to speak freely, she’d probably tell She’bara to maybe knock it off a bit with the smugness, but she just clears her throat pointedly and hopes it makes it across.

“I didn’t realize that was even possible,” Aja says, her smile relieved, lighting up her worried face. _Not the spy_ , Jyn decides, and she’s relieved, too. Not that she had much reason to think that Aja was a traitor, but she wasn’t looking forward to having to make the tough call if She’bara couldn’t.

“It’s possible if you know what you’re doing,” She’bara says, still smug, heading over to the nearest terminal and activating it. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Of course, Jyn realizes, moments later, when one of the technicians across the room – a stocky human male with a shock of blonde hair – pulls out his blaster pistol, this was _exactly_ what She’bara was hoping for.

She probably was _not_ hoping for Aja to notice, to dive for She’bara, to take the blaster shot in the arm. The plan was probably for Jyn to shoot the spy as soon as he revealed himself. But that’s difficult to do when you’ve got a woman suddenly charging in front of you to get to her seemingly oblivious lover.

Jyn fires only a fraction of a second behind the spy, but it’s a long enough delay for Aja to stumble into She’bara, a surprised little cry of pain coming out from between her lips. Aja even gets shot with a degree of grace, which is absurd.

The spy falls, shoulder smoldering, and is immediately held down by several of the others, his pistol kicked away, a dozen more pointed back at him.

“Oh, you _idiot_ ,” She’bara says to Aja, grabbing her by the good arm and peeling back her tunic to look at the damage on the other, and Aja’s surprised laugh sounds like a tinkling of falling glass, shattering and broken but still so _lively._

“I believe I just saved your life, love,” Aja says. She hisses in pain when She’bara’s blue fingers brush over the wound. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

Jyn waits until she’s back in the tunnels to try raising Cassian. Her fingers twitch at her scarf for few tense moments before she does it, leaning back against the stone wall and squeezing the small comlink as if it’s the cause of her personal problems. This warring need to hear his voice and make sure he’s okay that clashes up against her need to prove to themselves that they can do this separately. That they can trust each other to stay alive long enough to make it back.

It’s that revelatory feeling that she felt, kneeling in the streets beside him. It’s not that Jyn hasn’t always known the stakes. She’s more than familiar with leaving for an operation with someone and coming back without them. People who were the closest things she had to friends among Saw’s people, vanishing in clouds of smoke or shot through their scrapped-together armor, left behind to bleed out and die without having said their goodbyes. It’s what Jyn has always known, ever since she watched her mother die.

It shouldn’t be any different. It shouldn’t _feel_ any different. But it does.

They can do this separately. Of course they can. That doesn’t mean that Jyn doesn’t want to confirm for herself, whenever she can, that it isn’t too late.

“Cassian?” she asks into the comlink.

She has this brief memory of crouching in another tunnel, another time, hearing his voice on the comms when she didn’t expect him to be there, when she thought that he was across the galaxy, safe on Hoth. Heard an unknown voice say _Andor’s on the tank_. Heard the chaos and screaming and had no fucking clue what was going on above her, just that Cassian was here, and he was in danger. _He’s fucked_ , someone had said, and she had imagined him shot and dying, exploded into bits, imagined him crushed beneath the tank’s powerful treads. He’s fucked. What did that _mean_?

She almost tries again, almost raises her voice, almost panics, but she takes another deep breath and waits.

Finally, “Jyn! Are you all right?”

His voice is nearly drowned out by shooting and shouting and the sounds of battle, but he’s asking _her_ if she’s all right, and she smiles, resting her head back against the stone wall, closing her eyes. Imagining herself _there_ with him, where she could at least make sure that nothing happened to him without happening to her, as well.

As much as she has in common with She’bara, at the moment she feels a kinship with Aja, who so unthinkingly moved in the path of the blaster shot.

“I’m all right. We found the spy. Provided there’s only one, anyway. She’bara bluffed him into confessing. Aja was shot, but she’s all right. I’m heading out to Lieutenant Parsa now to support the rebel troops.”

“We’re nearing the edge of the town now. We have them on the run. It’ll be over soon.”

“Be careful.”

“You too. Stay safe.”

_Be careful. Stay safe_. Breathed out like _I love yous_ might fall from the mouths of less reticent people. But Jyn knows it, and she knows that Cassian does as well, and that’s good enough.

* * *

Neither of them die. In fact, Lieutenant Parsa doesn’t lose a single rebel in the guerilla fight against the Empire, which she points out with a giddy sort of amusement to Jyn as “following orders to the letter”, which makes them both laugh that ridiculous after-battle laugh of relief.

The Kophan resistance wasn’t quite so lucky, but only fourteen dead and twelve wounded to varying degrees isn’t so bad either, considering they won a town.

Considering, too, that Parsa reveals that she and her troops were ordered to help prop up the resistance however they’re needed. They come bearing gifts: weapons, shield generators to keep the headquarters and Kirk from aerial attacks, medical droids, security droids, and – perhaps most importantly – their troops.

Aja, when Jyn relays the information, bursts into tears.

Jyn, with only some reluctance, allows a grateful hug.

Parsa’s only caveat to the revelation of continued Alliance support is one for Jyn alone: Leia sent along a message for Cassian, and he needs to read it as soon as possible.

* * *

Bodhi is the first to find her, sprinting through the lavender grass and tackling her with a bit too much enthusiasm, sending them both sprawling to the ground in an unprofessional tumble in front of a dozen or so rebel soldiers. But Jyn’s laughing, and Bodhi’s already talking, already enthusiastically describing his first experience as a fighter pilot.

“Not that I brought anything down or anything. I _did_ hit a ship, but they kept going until someone else got ‘em. So that’s an assist, or whatever. Not bad for a cargo pilot!”

Baze and Chirrut are next, arriving on a stolen landspeeder, Chirrut whooping loudly as they approach.

“Aside from Baze’s hair flying into my mouth, that was thrilling!” Chirrut says when he leaps gracefully off the machine.

“That thing has _power_ ,” Baze says. “We’re taking one for us.”

“Right, _pay_ for it though,” Jyn points out, and Baze gives her a sidelong look that’s a little betrayed. “Oh, come on. I haven’t stolen anything in a while. Don’t look at me for criminal solidarity.”

“Mhm,” Baze says.

“I mean, we _obviously_ have to have one,” Jyn says to try and placate him a bit.

“He’ll get himself killed on that thing,” Chirrut hisses in her ear on the way by. “Tell him no.”

“You realize I heard that, right?”

Jyn ducks out of that ensuing argument quickly, she and Bodhi both laughing as she tugs him away, back into the field.

Around them is a celebration. Kophan resistance fighters are trickling in, meeting with the Alliance soldiers, all of them gathering around the ships in the field, setting up the shields and surveillance equipment, lighting up the entire area. Some people are still working, collecting Stormtrooper bodies to dispose of and treating the wounded, but the majority are recovering, meeting each other, enjoying the feeling of having lived through another battle.

Finally, _finally_ , Jyn spots K-2SO, towering beside Cassian, both of them looking a little dented and bruised, but in one piece. Jyn’s plan is to approach them with a degree of professionalism, but Bodhi goes sprinting over with his usual abandon, and so she jogs after him, allowing herself to smile as wide as her happiness demands.

When she reaches them, she’s just in time to take Bodhi’s place as he releases Cassian from a hug and moves on to try and awkwardly hug K-2SO. Jyn breathes Cassian in, tightens her hold on him to let him know she wishes she could hug him longer, and then she pulls back.

“The Lieutenant wants to see you,” she says. “She has a message from Leia.”

Her voice holds about as much apology as she can physically express, and she hopes that he can hear it. Cassian breathes out slowly, wincing, glancing to where Jyn indicates. The Lieutenant hasn’t noticed him yet, but she will.

“Cassian,” she says, and he looks back at her, barely suppressing the nervousness he feels. “Whatever it is, whatever she says, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Right,” he says. Too quickly to be sincere. She gives him as much of a glare as she can muster.

“Cassian, I mean it. This is my problem now too. And I want it to be. Please.”

He licks his lips and looks like he wants to argue, but in the end he sighs, nods, rests his hand on her shoulder.

“Okay. Jyn, if I…” but he stops, uncertain.

“Whatever it is, whatever she wants from you, whatever she _thinks_ of you, we’re facing this together. I’m with you. All the way.”

Cassian smiles, then. Sad, still. Always a little sad. But he repeats, “all the way”, and she believes him.

* * *

Which is how, after very little argument, two hours later, Jyn and Cassian both board Lieutenant Parsa’s shuttle to temporarily take them back to Hoth.

_The troops will stay in Kopha_ , the message had said. _We’ll help them, and you, take the moon from the Empire. But first, we need you to return to Hoth to talk about this. We know everything, Cassian. And we want you to come home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends the longest fucking mission. The final mission probably will not be as long (though there are two pretty big, significant plots, and I haven't met a first draft I couldn't expand by about 20k words on my second edit, so we'll see how that pans out). There will be a final Interlude next, then the final mission, and then a Finale! Which I'm very excited to write, because the plot of it is something I've been waiting to write into something for YEARS, and this is the perfect opportunity for it! 
> 
> This mission was comparatively angst free, but just as a warning, the angst train is definitely back in business for the next mission.


End file.
